Wet Heat and Vitriol
July 1, 2005
Happy Canada Day.
Machans Beach, Queensland, Australia
8:39am
I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.
Steph just left for a power walk. Hud is watching a spin off of Sesame Street. I am sitting in a “Sou-Wester” chair on the front porch, hoping the flimsy wooden knockoff will continue to support me until I am done writing.
I woke up last night at 2:00am and fell back asleep at 4:40am. I tried every room in the house, hoping to catch a wave of slumber. I think it was the homemade pizza that woke me up. Like a sausaugy oniony apparition, this gurgly ghost startled me to upright, and forced me to swallow back the acid making a surprise return appearance from the bubbling depths of my stomach. I picture my stomach like an acid soaked version of Hades, with little demons floating on pieces of salami or peanut butter on toast, sticking their pitchfork tines into the walls, making me suffer for what I chose to ingest.
I just made a pot of tea and when I returned to the computer, John, the next-door neighbour was sitting on his porch. He is shirtless, and man is he tanned. He makes George Hamilton look like the ghost of an albino in winter. I am pretty sure you could make a nice attaché case out of his torso. My guess is he is about 65 and been wondering Machans Beach with a smoke and some grog for the last 30 years or so. Good on ya mate.
Yesterday we all woke up at the same time and headed out to Cairns to see the actual city. It was interesting. It is the gateway to all the surrounding adventure, including the Great Barrier Reef and the rainforests further north. We were only able to walk along the esplanade, about six or seven blocks of hostels, tour operators, one-hour photo labs and cafes. It is a little obnoxious and a little cute. Its not like the operators were on the street, barking their separate adventures on a big bullhorn. We are going to do one maybe two days of adventure here. We are not going to rush into it, as we want to find out what the best part of the reef is to see, and do not want to be herded like cattle onto a giant boat and gift shopped to death.
So we gathered some brochures and I went to try to post at a café while Steph let Hud play in the Lagoon, a massive saltwater pool right on the Cairns coast. The reason for the pool is they do not have beach. They have kilometers and kilometers of low tide yuck, impossible for swimming. But the pool still attracted hoardes of people. A lot of these people being the many backpackers from all over the world that have chosen Cairns as a to do list city. Many of these backpackers, about 70 per cent, seem to be female, roughly between 20 and 25. Many of these females were clad in bikinis. Woe is me.
“I’ll play with Hud in the water Hun, why don’t you go drink your cappuccino over there, read some brochures, we’re fine.….” (insert dramatic hand gesture)
Needless to say, while the scenery was pretty spectacular, it did prevent me from taking off my shirt, feeling insecure surrounded by this fake sea of international polka dot bikinis. I shouldn’t care. But I do.
Around lunch we pried Hud’s feet from the pool and my eyes from the boobs and walked back to the car. We ate while driving, stopping at the Liquor Barn to pick up a six for me and three bottles of wine for Steph, including a six-dollar Chardonnay we have yet to open.
We drove up the coast past our turn off to Trinity Beach, one of the five beaches north of Cairns that are suitable for swimming. Swimming only between June and September that is, as Stingers (Jellyfish) invade the waters in the warmer months. That is nine months of these beautiful silky sand beaches desolate due to the plethora of Stingers, some of which are 3cm long and invisible and occasionally lethal. Nature is so fucked sometimes.
I carried sleeping Hud to a nice spot under the shade of a tree. He woke up but was very docile and remained lying beneath a towel, another towel under his head. He stared at me while I read, occasionally lifting his head to point at a plane or the buoy bobbing in the water. He eventually sat up and started playing in the giant sandbox to him, beach to us. Steph and I swam in the 70 degree water and watched him ignore us.
We dried off and read while he played, not once in an hour asking for help, or a playmate, complacent with his own active imagination. Eventually it was time to go, so I snatched Hud up and took him into the ocean, him complaining all the way. He stopped screaming once we started jumping the waves and waiting for a big one, him so long in my arms now.
We dried off and put Hud into dry warm gritty clothes and drove home. I made two pizzas, one sausage, onion and red pepper, the other tomato, basil, red pepperr and pineapple. We ate outside, waving to the many dog walkers walking past.
Hud went to sleep easy. Steph and I watched trashy television. Me feeling guilty for not writing my novel.
We went to bed at 10. You know the rest.
Love to all,
J.
June 29, 2005
Machans Beach, north of Cairns, Queensland, Australia
4:09 pm.
They say Cairns like Cannes as in the film festival location.
It was about 26 degrees Celsius when we stepped off the plane yesterday around 1:00pm. It’s wet heat, like Fiji. I welcomed the respite from the Fijian heat in Victoria, but there is something about getting off the plane and peeling off your clothes and letting the humidity sink into your pores like teeth into nougat. I am a balmy banana.
It is amazing how drastically the climate changed in traveling only 2800 miles. It feels like a tropical island here, and I guess it is literally. I guess I am just amazed at obvious things. Like palindromes and vulvas.
The baggage claiming and car rental retrieving went smooth. Hud was pretty decent on the plane, but started to hit the wall in the airport and become manic and hyper, not unlike a baboon. We crammed all our bags in the smaller and whiter car and followed the directions we were e-mailed to our new place just north of Cairns. With Steph at the wheel and me giving directions we were able to get to Birri Bana (our cottage) without her fingernails embedded in my throat and without my satanic sarcasm embedded her psyche. It was an easy 10-minute drive from the airport.
Well. Birri Bana is pretty great. We are now three for three in long distance domicile choosing. Of course this place could handle about six more people, so if anyone is considering a last minute vacation to Australia, there is definitely room here. It is a two story, 4 bedroom house directly facing the Pacific Ocean.
Way to much room for the three of us, but what are you going to do? We are literally 10 steps from the water. I am on the front porch right now listening to the surf. But we kind of figured it was going to be nice due to the amount of money we are paying. So our goal here is to see the sights yes, but spend some time hanging around the house. It is large enough to find a quiet nook and read or just revel in some alone time. Hud’s bedroom is attached to the indoor sun porch, which spans the back of the house. It is huge and all his toys are everywhere. The moment we unpacked, I held the knapsack containing his toys upside town and watched his sparkling face dance as each truck bounced off the spare futon and on to the floor.
Go nuts Hudder nudder fudder dudder butter bean, you’ve got the biggest room in the joint.
Our room and the spare room beside us face the ocean.
There is a large deck off both rooms with a small two-seat chair underneath a light. I can picture late nights reading, or out there pounding out cheesy alliteration for my novel. 20 pages in 20 days. That’s my goal.
So the place is nice, hearing the ocean is nice, but the actual beach (Machans Beach) is actually not great. It is only walkable for about two hours at low tide, all other times the water laps right up and onto the rock wall protecting the house across the small street. So we can hear it, but to just walk down to it and jump in may prove more difficult. Although I will attempt it, just cause I can, and therefore have to.
Keith, the owner of Birri Bana, was here when we arrived outlining all the dos and don’ts, the please nots, the please watch out fors, typical landlord crud. They are very organized about this rental, with all items in the house printed out on nice yellow personalized piece of paper for theirs, and I guess our protection. We have been instructed not to wear our shoes indoors as all the floors are hardwood. Maybe Keith old chum should have had a quick gander at the toe talons that were about a week away from scraping as I walked. I have since cut them, and my hands are sore from doing so.
So unpacked and comfortable we bolted to the grocery store to fill the fridge with our favourite thing in the world - food. Before we did, we met John, our tanned and old neighbour who was lit up like an Irishman on Friday night. He also smelled of smoke and I was not sure if I was disgusted or wanted to lick his skin. Needless to say, his skin remained dry and rank and we were off to the grocery store.
250 bones later we were fully stocked for at least the next twenty minutes. Hud of course fell asleep at around 5pm so we had to wake him for fries and salad twenty minutes later. He was not amused. But he calmed down after a couple of steak cut fries with tomato sauce. That’s ketchup for all you alternate hemispherians. I fell asleep putting Hud to bed and then woke up to watch CSI, wondering why I never watched this show at home. I went to bed a little bit before ten and woke up in Hud’s bed. His head on my stomach.
This morning we checked the budget and argued a little about life philosophies. We were civil this time and ended with some resolutions and mutual desires to not be home by October. As mentioned, no matter what, we will satisfy all our commitments to our scheduled itinerary. We will not be coming home early. Even if I have sell an ear or a testicle.
After lunch of cheese and crackers with apples, we walked five minutes down the road to a beach where Hud could build roads and we could read our books. I think we are afraid to start exploring the area for fear we are going to spend too much money. We are hoping we learned our lesson in Sorrento, with our one big trip costing too much, and ruining our allotted budget. It was awful though, having such a good time, and then coming back and clutching your heart adding up how much we spent on basically nothing. Alas, awareness is key, and one of us saying the word no every once and awhile might help.
Hud enjoyed the beach. Of course he did.
Occasionally I stare at him and get a hit of remorse, thinking us taking him away like we did was not a good idea. Taking him away from other kids, his extended family, stealing his house out from under him, his dog gone, his toy room surely painted over. But when he runs down the bank of the beach and trips over a wave landing headfirst into another wave, only to laugh like a high hyena and grab onto my leg for support, I think he’ll be all right.
I ferociously love him.
Him who is again asleep right now at 5:30.
Falling asleep after eating a small bowl of chips with a sip of Diet Coke to wash it down.
My boy Hud.
Love to all,
J.
June 28, 2005
In the air, 75 miles north of Melbourne Airport, 22,000 ft, Australia
10:00am
We made it. Just. Steph and I had one of those brief volcanic fights that stem from frustration and lack of sleep. We just make a bad driving/navigation team. Remind me never to enter the LeMans 24 hour drive through the desert with her. I can eat dessert with her, just no driving through deserts, or to airports for that matter. Luckily, Hud slept through all the vitriol and name calling. And now I am wedged into a Quantas domestic 727 airplane and I just might need a giant shoe horn to get me out.
The last day at the Daisy Cottage was as expected. Packing and going online to get some information. Then to the bank to get the cash for the Cairns house. And house it is. A four-bedroom house on the beach. Although the beaches in Cairns are supposed to be pretty cruddy. I know I know, poor baby.
The best part of yesterday was heading out to the back beach after running all the errands for one last look at the initial crag that I fell in love with the day we arrived. We left at around 3:30 and watched the amber sun sink quickly into the horizon. We took about 25 pictures of the sunset and of Hud buried up to his head in the soft sand.
It was a fitting end to a beautiful two weeks on the Mornington Peninsula. We spent too much money and we will have tighten up somewhere a long the way. But there is no chance we will be coming home before February, so all the home by Thanksgiving jokes can now slowly dissipate like turkey farts.
Sorrento and surrounding area had everything we loved about small towns, with the luxury of being 90 minutes away from a very cosmopolitan city. So all the gourmet foods and wines and amenities were available, with the quaintness of a salty seaside town still intact. It was lovely and if it was anywhere like this in Canada, with the corrsesponding15 degrees in the winter, it would be difficult not to take a long look at settling down for a spell.
I have nothing else. We were very organized in our packing at leaving. We were on the road at 5:15am and arrived at the airport just after 7:00. Hud slept in the car so he is nice and alert, where we could stand a little snoozer.
I still love Steph even though she punched me in the face. This time while fully awake.
Love to all,
J.
I reckon there will be heaps of tears when we leave Sorrento
June 27, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
5:33am
Another early morning.
Two things I realized one day before leaving this cottage. There are heating pads in our bed and we can see a bounty of stars if we leave the curtains open at night. These are two things I would have taken advantage of since day one had I knew. Listen to me, I am such a winger. That is winger as in “to winge”, an Aussie term for whining. They use this word a lot. Also “reckon” “heaps” and of course “mate”.
Here. Lets use them all in one sentence for kicks.
“I reckon that mate winges heaps” translates to “that guy whines a lot”.
Yesterday we went to three beaches and two parks in a six-hour span. Cramming it in I guess. Today we will be relatively close to home preparing for the trip to Cairns tomorrow. The weather here has been great for the last week or so, allowing easy adventure for the three ramblers. It has hovered between 16 and 18 degrees I reckon (acclimation alert) with not a cloud in the sky, allowing for postcard sunsets. And champagne dreams and caviar wishes. I don’t know why I just wrote that. It just felt right.
The day began with me reading in bed. I was wearing a burgundy silk robe, sipping a handful of cognac, and listening to Nana Mouskori. Poopsie, I said, shouldn’t we be getting a move on? To which Steph screeched, unfiltered cigarette hanging from her mouth, Shiraz spilling on the carpet;
“Stop bothering me when I am watching my damn shows!!” I do so love my poopsie.
The day began with me reading in bed. Steph was making bean salad and helping Hud with his colouring. Sunday morning, no television. I have adopted that rule from my sister, who I love with all my heart. Hud does not even seem to like television. He switches it off sometimes in the middle of what I deem to be pretty entertaining kid shows. What a weirdo.
With snacks in the knapsack we hopped in the car and drove to Flinders, a town we had been to before. We drank our cappuccinos and ate the best berry muffins ever created while watching Hud play in the park. It was Sunday morning, so a number of other kids were there with their respective parents. It is so white here; there aren’t even any hip mulatto kids. Just alabaster white and stunningly beautiful. Usually, even with my parental bias in check, I think Hud is pretty darn cute compared to the other kids, but, wow, there were some good looking kids running from slide to slide. And I scanned the adult crowd to see if anyone stood out. Nope. Normal mugs. Like me I suppose.
But I think Hud is beautiful because Steph is beautiful. Even if he looks more like me, his beauty is still from Steph.
With a pee behind the tree, and a fake poo in the café, we were back in the car. We stopped at Shoreham Beach first, a small beach riddled with sea grass and other kelp. It looked a little nasty, but when we stepped out of the car, Steph demanded we go for a walk. I got out and immediately knew why. It smelled amazing. The true salty fishy fresh redolence of the ocean. So we walked up the coast a short ways and around a big jetty. Hud found sticks and hit the water pooled on the black rocks from higher tide. Steph and I watched the hypnotic surf, discussing nothing, just accepting the scenery in relative silence. A couple of quick photos and we made our way back to the car.
Next up Port Leo. A surf beach. We parked right across the street from a small park, with a strange amount of kids and parents huddled right near the entrance. Hud bolted, I followed and suddenly we were cutting through the middle of a birthday party. I grimaced and pressed my lips and smiled, bowing a little sheepishly, avoiding the presents and coolers, until I was free from the circle of parents. I thought it was kind of funny. The parents did not. They had the “you weren’t invited to this party” look I remember so well from high school. I reckon these mates can bite me.
A quick park play and then down to the beach, where the sun was soon to disappear over the horizon. This was obviously a morning beach. There were no surfers either. But Hud and I built a wicked volcano tunnel track for his trucks. I was saying to Steph, that I start these little Hud/Dad moments sometimes out of obligation, and then, minutes later, I am elbow deep in the sand, making truck noises myself, suddenly realizing that Hud is not even beside me anymore and I am the only one playing. Like Peter Pan I am.
The tide forced us to leave Port Leo, as we were lying there and the encroaching surf hit our feet, shocking us into movement. The water is cold, but doable. I have been in Ontario lakes on May 24 and on thanksgiving so this is nothing. I did not go in.
Last stop, and the best one really, was part of the National Park that entered off the highway. I thought it was going to be more a farm, nature type walk, so I stopped the car begrudgingly, wanting to go to the back beach near our cottage to see the sunset. But it turned out to be a walk to another, very lush, black stone dappled beach. It was downhill about a kilometere, and a bit muddy, so we all had to watch our steps. We reached the pretty and raw beach and a couple teenagers were sand surfing down a big dune, one of them trying to do a handstand backwards going down. He made it about halfway, enough for his friend to film it. Steph walked on along the coastline
as Hud wanted to play in the sand. I watched him for a while until I could stand it any longer and climbed to the top holding Hud’s hand.
On my knees at the top now, I tucked, and we rolled and laughed down the sandy bank, granules entering every orifice. Every orifice.
Coburn and I knew a girl named Sarah Orvis growing up. Guess what we called her.
Steph returned and we made our way back up the hill to the car, arteries pumping very fast doing so.
I was sure Hud would fall asleep, but he did not, eating the rest of his bean salad in the back seat, singing his own made up songs.
We dropped off the movie in Sorrento and came home and made dinner. I barbequed some chicken breasts with a honey mustard glaze and Steph made a salad with walnuts and apples and the parmesan cheese we bought from CheeseWorld (Edam! It was good).
Hud went to bed pretty shortly after dinner, his bedtime earlier now that he does not nap.
Steph and I watched television until nine and then we went to bed to read.
Read yeah right.
Oh poopsie……
Love to all,
J.
June 26, 2005
10:14am
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
Yesterday was Steph’s solo day. Mine was the golf day. We understand the need for these days. What couple is used to spending 164 hours a week together? Particularly after our tag team parenting, pass each other in the night relationship back in Toronto.
It is working so far. Minus the one brawl things are grooving along peacefully. We take turns with the responsibilities and do not let any resentment build. We let each other parent without the other stepping in to be the good or bad cop. Hud goes to each of us equally for consoling or shame. We are more affectionate and loving. Romance is easy staring at different sunsets every night. Hud seems balanced and more responsible for himself everyday. He is loving and sweet and honest. So far so good.
Steph left at 10 to walk the 5km to Sorrento for some cappuccinos and window shopping. Hud and I grabbed the laundry bags and made our way to the Rye launderette to get everything clean for the next stage of our trip. We leave for Cairns early Tuesday morning, so everything has to be packed and ready tomorrow night.
Hud and I went to a park during the wash cycle and to the front beach for the dry cycle. He played with some kids tentatively at the park, still quite shy and happy to just run instead of see saw with another kids his age. I am wary of the lack of time he spends with other kids. He gets a ton of parental attention and needs to interact with other snotty, gross kids. The last thing I wanted to accomplish in this year was to accidentally produce a spoiled child. Come September, when we are settled in for a couple of months, Steph and I vowed to seek out some programs that allows Hud to be without us and with other children.
The beach was sweet again. Hud played with his trucks and I leaned back and read. The front beach(Bay side) is smooth as a countertop. No waves, no ripples, no boats really. Just my son making a racetrack in the sand and me holding my book in front of the intense sun so I can see.
We picked up the laundry and drove to Sorrento to find somewhere to eat. It's right around two weeks in one location that you begin to feel a little like a local. The shopkeepers recognize you and are a little more apt to make conversation.
With the weather being so great, Sorrento on Saturday was pretty busy. People must make the day trip down from Melbourne for the fresh produce and cute cafes. Hud and I weaved through all the day trippers and suddenly, karma, we bump into Steph. She of course declined our invitation for lunch as she did not like our choice of restaurants, and I think she secretly wanted some more Steph time. Good on her.
She did hook up with us after lunch, and we bought the last of what we should need until Tuesday.
So of course we went out for dinner. An awful Chinese food place that squeezed us in with no reservation, as this was their last night of operation. Well we know why. The food was shit and expensive. I guess we were due for a bad food experience.
We watched The Aviator snuggled on the couch after Hud went to bed. Saturday night and all. Date night.
I thought Cate Blanchett was great as I have always been a Hepburn fan. Leo (that’s what his friends call him) was pretty great also and would have won the Oscar in any other year.
This post was pretty humourless. I can’t be funny all the time.
Although I think I should be.
Love to all,
J.
Wine, cheese and 12 big apostles
June 24, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia,
7:21 pm
Back at the Daisy Cottage after a similarly wonderful day. It ended with a sunset ferry back from Queenscliff, and after some grilled cheese and soup, we are grimacing about the amount of money we spent.
But whatever, I am coming to terms with trying not to be as pragmatic after we spend the money, while being such a loose goose during the spending sprees. I also have to perhaps seek out ways to help our financial cause while we are here. It still feels like a big vacation and I have to change my way of thinking. Problem with Australia is it seems we are not in one place long enough to actively look for some work. I may try and pitch a story back at home. Any suggestions from people back home are appreciated and welcomed.
Today we woke up and got on the road quickly, our goal just to get to Port Fairy, have lunch and make our way home. On the highway this time, not along the windy ocean road or we would never made it back for the last ferry. Yes I used the words fairy and ferry in the same paragraph. I am a writer you know.
We stopped at another rock formation, the Arch, and it was hardly as magnificent as the apostles or we are truly being spoiled by our daily views. What goofs we are.
Our next stop was one you just cannot turn down. It was Cheese World. Yes Cheese World. Where everything is cheese and cheese is everything. I had visions of people walking around saying “How are you today?”
“I am pretty Gouda, but I was cheddar yesterday” Tee hee.
We bought a small Parmesan and a nice spiced cheddar and some crackers along with some fudge for good measure.
Port Fairy was yes another quaint town along the coast, although we could not see the ocean from Rebecca’s, a local café where we had lunch. Steph has a fettuccine with braised spinach and roasted pumpkin. I had a cheddar and salami melt with mixed greens and Hud had a vegetable soup with bread. Everything was so fresh and wonderful. I can’t tell you how great the food is here.
The drive back was boring farmland, Hud not sleeping and but being very funny and not complaining one bit of the three hour drive. We ate our fudge and cheese and crackers and drank bottled water. Steph sang and cows and sheep toppled in ear pain. I tried to sleep but it was in vain with all the car activity going on.
We made the 5:00pm ferry and watched the sun set over Queenscliff on the top.
We retired to the inside of the ferry. I had a tea and sat next to my wife near the window.
Hud ran around in circles, not unlike a psychotic dog.
What a journey.
Love to all,
J.
June 24, 2005
Port Campbell, Victoria, Australia
4:46am
A road entry.
Yesterday was a day of complete wonder and awe.
It started at 6:45am, Hud waking us up and me convincing Steph that we take the 8:00am ferry to Queenscliff instead of the 9am one as originally planned. She agreed, sacrificing basically nine more minutes of quality sleep. So the mad dash began. Getting dressed and packing bags. My packing consisted of pulling a pair of sweat pants from the bumoire and stuffing it in a knapsack. Steph is wearing them right now as she forgot pajamas. So I will be repeating yesterday’s outfit sans boxers.
Today I will go commando and Australia will be better because of it. Prrrrowrrr.
A ferry between Sorrento and Queenscliff runs every hour for both cars and passengers. It covers the distance between the two heads in only 45 minutes, so Port Phillp Bay is actually quite protected from the mean and nasty ocean. This is another reason why the coastline of the Bay is quite popular, both with humans and all sorts of sea creatures, dolphins and seals included.
So basically the day began by watching the sun begin. We huddled on top of the ferry and witnessed the peninsula we have discovered by land, pass us by sea. Hud was pretty thrilled by it all, although his sea legs took a while to kick in, and demanded we hold his wee little hand.
Before we knew it, the announcement went off for us to return to the car. And with couple of shakes and clanks, we were driving off the boat and through Queenscliff to hook up with The Great Ocean Road to begin our adventure.
The Great Ocean Road is a road, that goes along the ocean, and is great.
Our goal was to travel this road to Port Fairy, about 300 km from Queenscliff, stopping at various locations along the way, the highlight being the 12 apostles, massive rock formations that sit together on the coastline.
The first stop was Torquay, surf capital of the world. We drove to the beach (Port Danger, oooooo) and watched kite surfers do their thing. What an amazing sight. These guys motor at about 20 knots attached to what looks basically like parachute attached to a surfboard. They hit the waves at this speed and get serious air. There were four of them, tacking back and forth with ease, falling into the water and letting the air whip them back upright, to cut through the water once again. You could almost feel the giddy adrenalin chugging through their veins like an impossible train.
This was today’s first moment of awe.
After the first beach we went to Surf City, a touristy shopping area that houses some of the surf shops that originated in Torquay. Billibong, Quicksliver, RipCurl to name a few. Steph bought a t-shirt, beginning her slow transformation to a surf Betty. Hud danced to the hip-hop in front of the store while I longed for an egg and bacon sandwich and a coffee.
After my egg and bacon sandwich and a coffee we drove to Bells Beach, one of the most famous surf beaches in the world. There were a couple of surfers on small swells so I got Steph to take the most touristy picture possible and we were back in the car to gain some more ground on our destination.
Now I have driven some windy roads in my five long years of being a licensed driver. But nothing will compare with the hairpin, coastline action of the 50km between Torquay and Apollo Bay. It was insane. Up and down, back and forth, it was like being on an amusement park ride with an evil operator who won’t let it end. Steph was as nervous as I have ever seen her, telling me to watch my left every six or seven seconds. It was pretty hairy. And somewhat fun to drive after you get the feel for it. We stopped at some of the more beautiful vantage points and soaked the scenes in. Hud slept through the whole thing, his head moving side to side with each sharp turn. What a funny egg.
The drive eases away from the coastline after Apollo Bay. We were going to stop in this beach town for lunch, but Hud was just waking up and not complaining so we ventured on. The landscape changed to farmland. Cows and sheep peppering the green. The air so clean you wanted to lick it off a spoon. And then trees started to hover over us and we entered Ottway National Park and suddenly the foliage felt very familiar, like driving through Algonquin, or northern Vancouver Island.
We stopped at Mait’s Forest, an Australian rainforest with trees as big as life, and prehistoric ferns surrounding us like street gangs. Hud was awake and vibrant, hiding in the caves carved out of these massive trees. Sadly we arrived at the rainforest at the exact same time as a tour group, so it didn’t feel like we were only three people on the planet.
The path is a big circle and as we were finishing another tour group was starting. Hud stood at the entrance and hissed like a dragon at everyone entering the rainforest. Like he was guarding it like a cute, not scary at all, troll. Even the Asians laughed at him.
Back in the car now, all of us very hungry, we found a small café about 40km from the 12 apostles so we stopped for a late lunch. Steph had grilled fish and chips, I had a foccicia with ham, cheese and tomato, Hud had a vegetable soup and a scone. Steph also had her glass of red and I had a cold Coopers Pale Ale. Hud stuck to milk.
Suddenly we were there. A national park sign told us so. We pulled into the parking lot with some tour buses and other cars with passengers already holding their digital cameras. Down a ramp and over a hill and there they stood. Limestone rock formations the size of buildings. There are twelve of them but not all are visible from the vantage points and lookouts offered by the park service. We stood and stared at these massive hunks of rock, the sun just starting its descent. Sure others were there, sure it’s a little vanilla, as secretly I wanted to climb over the rails and stand on one of the cliffs screaming until my retinas popped. But it is still one of things I will remember seeing as Hud holds my hand in the hospital bed.
Steph felt the same sense of awe. Hud of course was fascinated by the taste of the wooden railing. Funny, after about an hour of looking out at these apostles, Hud stopped running around in circles and came over and sat right between us.
“Hey look at the rock!” He said. Duh I thought and kissed his forehead.
Off to Port Campbell to find a room, which we did with relative ease. Another quaint town with general stores to spend money in. We ordered a pizza and got settled in our motel room. A motel room with brick walls and a wooden paneled ceiling. A little jail-like, but the television worked and we all were sound asleep by 11:00pm.
I, of course woke up to talk to you.
I had to tell someone about what I saw today.
Love to all,
J.
June 22, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
I shot a 117. A net 97.
Once, I was stuck in gnarled fescue so deep that I took four swings at it before squirting it off the toe across the fairway into more rough. Another time I hit my second shot out of a deep pot bunker and landed it on the green, only to have it roll back and stop in the rough about six inches from rolling back into the bunker. The next shot I duffed the chip and it traveled far enough up the slope to gain enough inertia coming back to actually make it through the rough this time, and land back to the bottom of the pot bunker. I cut under the sand two more times before finally hitting an ok bunker shot on my fourth try.
An eight on an easy par three.
An appropriate snowman from the Canadian chuckled my playing partner.
Ha ha very funny fuckball.
It was actually great. The course was spectacular. A true dunes course. Grass planted in sand. Near, but not on the ocean. You could smell the fish in the air. It was all rolling countryside, with black cows grazing, and greens the size of postage stamps tucked into corners and bends.
I played with Joe, our Irish cottage host, and Barry, a retired insurance man who lives in Melbourne, but has a holiday home on the peninsula. One thing about this trip, we do hang around a lot of old people. There were numerous conversations about groin tumors, and goiters, and thyroid cancer. Barry informed us both that the club’s flag was hanging at half-mast for the third time this year. I nodded and secretly longed for some bubble gum to pop and a sprinkler to run through.
Needless to say, the old guys beat the hell out of me on the course, so my longing to be 13 again has nothing to do with golf.
I had a beer after with the gang, and I refrained from explaining my recent ear infection just to be cool. I did meet the club president who had eyebrows like the caterpillars that infest trees. He was off to NZ to golf in the summer. The guy beside him was at least 80 and would giggle randomly and girly at things that were not that funny. I laughed along with him once, but really, I was laughing at him.
I bet he posted a better score than I did.
Love to all,
J.
June 22, 2005
Portsea, Victoria, Australia
I just wanted to add to Mr. Graham’s golf report, that Hudson and I also had a marvelous day in Portsea. This is the next town over and the last on this side of the peninsula.
We spent the say at the park, beach and then a walk on the pier where we saw a baby seal! Hud spotted it first, saying, “mom, what’s that?”
The baby seal played by the pier for about fifteen minutes and then on his way off, he did a jump and a wave of the flipper right in front of Hud.
It was indeed a cool moment.
S & H xoxo
June 21, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:19 pm.
It’s not that you have a small ________ it’s that you have huge _______.
Words just uttered from my wife’s mouth. The blanks are yours to fill.
Today is the shortest day of the year in Australia. At home I am sure it’s one of those patio nights, where it starts to get dark around 9:30pm. The air is thick and wet and hot. The pints are clear and cold and sweaty. I would have my feet on the chair across from me, about six pints in, piling in the smoky darts at a rapid pace, my throat raw and red, my speech slurred, profanity spilling from my mouth like saliva before vomit, more animated, less inhibited, smiling too hard, eyes arcane and bloody.
This was my life. On top of the world Ma.
Here the sun went down around 5:40pm. We had just returned from Sorrento after picking up various additions for tonight’s dinner of Chicken burritos. They were awesome and now I am stuffed. I am slurping the Chardonnay given to us by Joe and Ellen, the owners of the cottage. There are no darts, no gathered profanity, no tense smiling. I am relaxed and relatively toxin free, minus my returned affection for Diet Coke.
You hear that? That was Coca Cola’s head office in Atlanta high fiving.
Today we went to the beach in the morning, as we are both never tired of hearing and watching the aggressive waves smash into the sand. A great part about living close to an ocean is the ability to return, at different times of the day, and witness different tidal sequences, and therefore different waves slapping different areas of the shore. You would think it is mostly the same, but the four times I have now been to our particular beach, I have witnessed the squirting and ejaculating of water as it finds a new cranny to rumble through. It is so real and raw and random. Although the tides are predicted months in advance. There is so much to learn.
Lunch was spinach and ricotta ravioli with basil, Parmesan, and broccoli. Yes it’s a familiar meal in the house of carb. But we all like it and we needed some hearty fuel before heading out for our afternoon of wine tasting. We planned on hitting three vineyards and then find a place for a dinner, maybe one of the vineyards.
First up, T’Gallant Vineyards, about 30 minutes northeast of our cottage in a small town called Red Hill. We had no idea what to expect. Neither Steph nor I had ever been to a winery before, although I am pretty sure we have drank twenty times our weight in wine at random dinner parties and at my mothers.
So we know what we like. We know that you are supposed to swish the wine around the glass and then place your nose into the glass to experience the bouquet. We know to hold it in our mouths for longer than a second to let the wine fill the nooks. So when Gabby, the handsome host of our tasting, poured us five different types of wine, we nodded and asked good questions, while not feeling too ignorant of the whole process. She talked of the acid level, the good cellaring, the fall harvest, the vibrancy, the bursting, and the hollowness of all the flavours.
We talked of our vacation, our selling of the house, our quitting of the job, our basking in the glow of the unemployed. Gabby beamed and poured us a Pinot Gris, a wonderful white that is harvested later than the Pinot Grigio and is bolder and heavier than the traditional Italian afternoon wine. We loved this one and dished out thirty bones to have her wrap it in tissue and put the same sticker to seal it as the one she gave Hud to stick on his head.
Gabby and Steph exchanged Yoga experiences and she gave Steph a name to look up in Byron Bay. Hud and I played with a cat that looked a lot like Charlie, a cat we had back on Glenforest. The one that died of a brain tumour. It waved its tail like it was going to attack, but it didn’t, and Hud remained fascinated by its feline ways.
Next up, Tuck’s Ridge, a winery down the road about ten minutes for another round of tasting. This one had a nice, big sandbox for Hud so we slipped in the Cellar Door and were greeted by Pat, a broad women who looked like Steph’s mother’s friend Wendy. She was expressive and friendly as she poured different wines and described them with colourful bon mot as “Tastes like the bottom of a forest floor”. Or “So vibrant, the moment you take a sip you want to burst into song” Pure gold. Their tasting menus were equally descriptive and made me think there is a job for me in this region.
Another couple slipped in at the end of our tasting and we were able to sneak out without feeling obligated to buy a bottle of wine. Especially since Steph’s favourite wine was a Chardonnay that cost $50 a bottle.
Hud was getting wingy, so we passed on the last planned winery visit and started driving around looking for a restaurant that was not closed on a Tuesday. We failed, but we did find a number of little shops that sell little cheeses, and little jars of jams and chutney. This area, and Melbourne in general, is built for people that like wine, cheese, bread and fresh produce. Mom, seriously, get here, it is a foodie’s fridge door’s wet dream. We bought a local cheese that cost nine dollars, but it melted in your mouth like meringue. Expensive, but so good it becomes the cheese you compare others too. So worth it.
The shortest day is ending soon. We read way more books in Fiji with two channels. Now we have four channels, with all the shows, and we are reveling in them.
Oh well. Whatever.
I am sure it will be over soon. And we can go back to being passively pseudo intellectual.
Love to all,
J.
Smells like bum, looks like heaven
June 20, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
5:00 pm.
The armoire in our bedroom smells a little bit like bum. We think it’s the wood it is made from. Cedar maybe. I know it sounds like I am passing the blame on inanimate wood paneling. But it smelled that way when we arrived, not after we packed our clothes in it. So now when I reach for a pair of socks or a jumper (Yes, I wrote jumper, isn’t it crazy?), I get a good whiff of Jason’s room circa 1987-89, the sweaty days. Where boxers and socks lay hidden closets until they were stiff.
Misty water coloured memories.
Steph is chopping wax beans and drinking red wine as I write this. What a little rummy Ms. White is becoming. As you may or may not know we are staying in a huge wine region. A wine region with a number of vineyards that produce excellent Shiraz. The bold, biting Shiraz being a particular favourite of Steph’s. So the combination of all these factors has lead to the almost daily announcement of:
“We have to stop and get a bottle of wine” or
“I can’t wait to have a glass of wine” or my personal favourite,
“I would sell Hud into slavery for a glass of Shiraz right now”
I guess to put up with me for 24/7 I would find a deliciously bountiful vice too.
Today was fun. We drove to Port Nepean and rented bikes for the 15km round trip to head of the Mornington Peninsula, a former Australian army post. It started off sunny and brisk, the hilly ride keeping us warm and seeking oxygen. Steph and I gave each other the ‘I can’t believe how out of shape we are’ bulge of the eyes. Hud of course sipped his latte on the back, legs crossed, reading The New Yorker.
The army post was built in the late 19th century, serving as a watch post for the early Australian paranoia and then as an actually military post in both of the Great wars. It fired the first Allied shot in both wars. At a German ship trying to escape Port Phillip Bay in 1939 and at another boat that just didn’t understand the signals in 1919. These were the only two shots of aggression ever fired from this post.
There were underground tunnels, and bomb-proof rooms (where we ate our picnic lunch as it started to rain), and other gunnery and magazine rooms, including where they kept all their shells and explosive mixtures. It was all kind of interesting, kind of boring. Two buses full of grade nine kids were there on a field trip, screaming up and down the tunnels. They were full of zits and bad hair, sectioned off in all different cliques, which both Steph and I analyzed. Hud ran around flapping his sweatshirt sleeves like wings, trying to impress the teenagers.
Because it was poring they gave us a lift back to our bikes to at least cut our ride by a kilometer. We still ended up soaked and winded by the time we got back to the visitor centre.
Legs like rubber, lungs on fire, we hopped in the car and drove to this week’s home.
The owners of our cottage arrived back from Perth and gave us a bottle of wine. She is Danish and we think he may be British. I am playing golf with him on Wednesday.
I told him my handicap was 20. I should have told him my handicap is that my legs feel like slinkies and I have a tendency to shank multiple balls into the woods.
Oh well, he will soon find out.
I think we are playing in a tournament. Oh goodie,
Love to all,
J.
June 19, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:45 pm.
Do you know what today is? You bet….. as my good husband reminded me, subtly no less, at around 9:30 A.M. this morning, that it was in fact Father’s Day. Being the self-centered person that I am, I had completely forgotten. Shit. He had gotten up with Hud, made him breakfast and then came back into bed at 9:30. I was still lazing about and he reminded me that we should get a phone card to call our dads. It still didn’t hit me…..until…..oh shit, shit shit. My excuse was that it actually not Father’s Day in Aussie. It’s not till September.
The day got better for Jase though, cause he got to go to the movies solo and have popcorn. He went to the afternoon showing of Star Wars. Hud and dropped him off at the theatre and went home to drop off the groceries, make a quick sammy and off to the beach. After a fifteen minute walk through the craggly, dark woods, we arrived at the sand dunes and the edge of the ocean. There were lots of surfers out today. We parked ourselves next to a few surfer onlookers and played in the sand. Hud played in the sand and I watched the surfers, wondering if I could attempt it before I leave Aussie. At the same time wondering if my contacts would get wrecked or if I would get gobbled up by a tiger shark. Or which would happen first. Note to self…..get over phobias.
My daydream is broken by the call of Hud, saying, “mom I have to poo”. Shit. Of coarse there are no toilets, washrooms, loos, potties, etc….. on or near the beach. Just as I was trying to mix in with the 20-something surfers, the reality of having a just-toilet trained boy sets in. Quickly, I whisk Hud over to the rocky caves and find a good nook for him to squat. Luckily it was a clean break and it only took one wipe. I tightly knotted the poop bag and went back to the beach. It was an Alice moment for sure.
Went to Sorrento to pick up Jase, quickly bought him a soft copy of Da Vinci’s Code to further suck up. Then we went for fish and chips at the pier and an almost sunset walk
on the beach. Evening routine has set in. Hud is almost in bed. Jase is flicking the channels (only about 11) in between Big Brother (Aussie version). Yes, we seem to be getting hooked on reality TV and the weekly rag, Women’s Day. I only buy them for the crossword puzzles. Okay, and for the Hollywood gossip. Anyway, should end. All in all, a very good day on the coast.
Hugs and kisses, Steph
June 18, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
8:05 pm.
Sipping a chilly Coopers Brewery Original Pale Ale, one of the six I bought yesterday, one of the three I have had tonight, and the night, as they say, is still young. If I was one of the remaining Coopers, lying down on the upper rack in the fridge, I would be nudging the other two closer to the door, coaxing them to make it easy on themselves, to extend my liquid life, oh, another seven minutes.
Yesterday’s beach tramp with Hud was a success, although we lost a blue shovel. He played with his new toys, while I leaned against the dune, backpack as a pillow and listened. Listened to Hud’s imagination and the ocean and thought about things I had not thought about in years. A clutter free mind brings things down from the attic. Remembering the car my father and I were in when he told me that he would not be living with us anymore. Or the target wall mural at the Vantage apartment. Apartment #356 or 365 I can’t remember exactly. It’s all bizarre.
We returned full of sand and smiles, to Stephanie, who was limber and relaxed after her 105 minute yoga class. I had a sandwich, Hud had some left over pasta and then we were off to Sorrento to return the movie and post the most recent post, which you have all read and commented on. It is great to able to add photos to the journal. We have over 500 pictures so far, in less than a month. You realize that is a 6000-picture slide show when we return. We’ll have a party. Mom if you could make the sausages and meatballs that would be great.
We checked out the pier and the ferry in Sorrento as we are planning to take our car over the ferry, between the two heads (Queenscliff is on the other side for the geography buffs) for an overnighter near the twelve apostles. The twelve apostles are rock formations that line the Victorian coast further west from we are now. It is a popular tourist attraction that is supposed to be spectacular, bus tour parking and all. We just want to do the Great Ocean Road drive, which includes the apostle stop, but only as one of the many things to see on the southern coast of Australia.
Later on that night we went for pizza and took Hud to see Madagascar. We all enjoyed it immensely although we think Hud ate too much junk, as he woke up at three a.m. that night, fell back asleep at 6:45, and then woke up for good at eight. Needless to say, Steph and I were sharpening our claws, waiting for a good reason to lash out at each other.
And then they receded. Our plan was to do our laundry at the coin op and have a coffee in Rye. It was raining and we were waiting for Hud to begin his transformation into the Omen. We then would take him back home and let him sleep the demon away, and sneak in our own needed naps. It is amazing how lack of sleep can turn someone so evil. And by someone I mean myself.
Well an amazing thing happened, the rain cleared and a beautiful sunny day appeared above us. Laundry was a snap with the guy working there chatting us up like we were long lost friends. He told us which washers to use, which dryers to use, how is ex-wife stayed in a camper across the road for three months after they divorced and that is something she didn’t want to do while they were married. Lets just say this guy was lonely. I was going to ask him what was a good spot to pop in for a pint, but it sounded too much like an invitation, and I couldn’t see myself listening to Baldy, the Wonder Talker, drone on all night about what a skank his ex-wife was. Needless to say, we smiled and nodded, and were very polite about the whole exchange.
Hud looked up to it, so with all our clothes now clean and folded, we headed out to Flinders, a small town on the ocean side of the Peninsula, recommended to us by pothead Liz the other day. The drive was beautiful and it kind of reminded me of PEI with fields of grazing cows with an oceanic backdrop. We drove down through valleys with hairpin turns and passed kangaroo warning signs. Thirty minutes later, we arrived in Flinders. And of course there were two things we had to do upon arrival. Find a cappuccino for Steph, and a washroom for me. We found a café that solved both dilemmas, and even I had a cappuccino to celebrate the locating of a toilet. They say word toilet here like we use the term washroom. Toilet to us is a bit of a dirty word. I am going to the toilet. Well good for you mate.
So with take away (takeout) cups in one hand, and pistachio orange cookies in the other, we went across the street to a park to let Hud have his run of things for awhile. We started talking to South African couple with a three-year-old daughter named Taylor who had lived in London for a bit before moving to Melbourne for good. Just last year they stayed in Toronto at his Aunt’s place at Danforth and Broadview. Small world indeed.
The woman was also a bit chatty, revealing their financial situation without us baiting her one bit and how Taylor had a small bladder and had to wee 12 times a hour. The mother had straight teeth, but they were a grayish yellow colour, and after a while it was all I could look at. So before leaving, I handed her a tube of Crest and slapped her on the ass. Good luck with the Chiclets I laughed, before she stormed away. Toothpaste in hand I might add. Ahhh life. So kooky sometimes.
Back in the car now. Boneless chicken, blue slushee, tawdry magazine all purchased for the drive back home at the general store. I love snacking on the boneless chicken. Slithery and chock full of protein. Can you tell I am even getting bored writing now?
Anyway, on to the good stuff. Checking the map, we realized on the way home was a place called Cape Schanck, another location Cheech, I mean Liz had recommended. I’d like to shanck you I growled at Steph. I am so money sometimes.
It was 3:30 when we arrived at the gate. Hud had fallen asleep. It cost $4 to get in. I said lets do it. Steph said lets go another time, during a winery visit (get out the balloons and kazoos for that afternoon of madness). I turned the car around and started to sulk. Which I am good at. 300 metres later, after me explaining to her that even if we just park the car and lean on the hood and look at the ocean it would be worth it, Steph changed her mind and we went back. Yay Steph!
Well, we are so glad we did. We were not able to park the car and see anything, so we wrapped Hud in his blanket and carried him to a lookout point with a small bench. Wow.
Another notch in the scenery belt.
The ocean, green farmland, a lighthouse, massive rocks and boulders, black sand and a boardwalk that led from the top of where we stood, right down to the ocean. This of course was unattainable as there was a kid asleep on my head.
But, again, life is blessed sometimes, because Huddy woke up and immediately snapped out of his grog. Who wouldn’t when surrounded by such beauty?
Sidenote: When Hud is nice and cuddly before bed, Steph will go to see him and he will say, unprovoked: “Mom, you’re beautiful”. So sweet.
With Hud now eager, we made the kilometer trip down to the water, stopping every chance we could get to bask in the luxury of our surroundings. This is why we took this trip we agreed, this is why we quit our jobs and sold our house. I could not even think about the other reasons as I watched the sun creep down the horizon line, reflecting off the forever ocean, silky purple clouds hovering beneath it.
This was exactly why.
The whole Cape Schanck walk took about two hours. We walked through a cove of grey rocks that were so smooth from being washed over billions and trillions of times by the waves. We climbed bigger, bolder rocks to get a better look at the gnarled surf as it crept closer and closer as the tide came in. We walked back up the stairs, not tired one bit, our bodies overloaded with vigor and spirit.
We got back in the car, all of us beaming, chatty as the laundrymat guy and the South African girl.
Steph passed me the $4 dollars as we approached the gate.
It was open. And no one was there.
Brilliant. We would have paid fifty.
Love to all,
J.
I'll have a Sorrento and Portsea on Rye, hold the Blairgowrie
June 17, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
9:13 am.
There there. That’s better.
Yesterday was a great day. I guess I have come to realize that the roller coaster does not stop just cause you change tracks. Some days are great, some days are not. Some days you are at the front of the coaster, screaming, happy, wind making you cry, some days you are at the back, waiting for the ride to end, or at least go into a spiral or a loop.
Ok. Bad analogy over in five, four, three, two, now.
Yesterday we got in the car and drove to Arthurs Seat. Sure it sounds like a tourist trap to see a folding chair once housing the bum of a middle aged, brown polyester panted man, but its actually a whisper of a town that overlooks a number of small seaside communities. It also is the home of the Arthurs Seat Maze. Four acres of various hedge mazes and sculptures. Sure it’s not Sea World, sure it’s not an arduous hike along the hissing beach, but we were looking for something light and fluffy after the previous day’s histrionics.
Well it turned out to be great. The moment we entered the first hedge maze, Hud and I took off on Steph. Muh ha ha. Good times. We weaved and ran along the narrow paths, eight –foot hedges standing like sentries, blocking the sun. Three minutes later we hear the shaky voice of Steph, asking us where we are. We of course have no idea after randomly taking lefts and rights, a three-year old leading the way. So after a serious twenty minutes we finally reunited, nervous laughter our immediate tonic. This is of course where Steph and I tried to reenact the snowy scene from The Shining.
All work and no play make Steph and Jason go crazy.
There were a numerous mazes and flower gardens. Hud sat on a tractor.
We sat in the middle of the forest, surrounded by carvings of aboriginals in stumps and ate our lunch. A lunch of three different sandwiches and a nice fruit salad that Steph concocted prior to departure. We are getting better at not eating out.
It started to rain a little, so we said goodbye to the hedge reindeer and got back in the car. In Arthurs Seat there is a chairlift, which I had read about in one of the tourist magazines that the owners left for us. The article was an interview with the owner of the chairlift, who for two years, was mired in a liability lawsuit in regards to some accident on the lift. I understand this man is trying to work his tourist attraction back into the rotation, but reading this article did not want me to take my son and leap on the chair, no matter how he professed about the new safety guidelines. Sometimes the best PR is not to say anything at all. Just let the tourists find out after they take the ride in the café next door.
So, after high fiving about the lack of money we spent, we drove to Sorrento and spent a whack of money. Movies for Hud and us, fresh bread, garlic, basil, parmesan cheese, Italian sausages, shortbread cookies, chocolates, two bottles of wine, a six pack of beer, and of course, a cuppacino.
Hello line of credit? It’s me Jason. Get ready.
Back at home now, and Liz, the daughter-in-law of our hosts came by to collect the money and see if we had settled in okay. Of course the cottage looked like we had lived here for a couple of years, so Liz sat for a spot of tea (please read the past five words aloud in an over exaggerated British accent, its much more fun) and outlined some of the best and inexpensive things to do in and around the Mornington Peninsula. She was sweet, nature girl, wearing Ugs and speaking as she just finished off a big fat roach in her Range Rover. Get this. They are trying to sell there house. Been on the market for eight months. We told her ours sold in four days. She almost choked on her biscuit. That was the name of my first punk album. Choked on a biscuit. How odd.
She left, I made aglinotti stuffed with ricotta and spinach with fresh basil and parmesan and Italian sausage. We had a couple of glasses of red wine and put Hud to bed.
We watched Oceans 12 in bed and I thought it was stupid, accept for the Kashmir and Miller’s Crossing references.
Hud has gone a week with no diaper at night and no accidents.
This morning I woke up and went for an hour walk along the coast. Got some good pictures. Got some good heart rate. Walking in thick sand is challenging.
I came back and made Hud and I an egg on toast.
Strong Bodem coffee next to me. New rubber frog next to Hud.
Steph went off to Yoga. Hud and I are off to the beach to test out his new beach toys.
It feels like the rollercoaster has stopped, at least for a spell.
Love to all,
J.
June 16, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:31 am.
Dust up between Steph and I yesterday. Our first real row. We were both tired and cranky and ended up arguing in front of Hud, who started crying. And when Hud went outside, I screamed and swore like a Kowalski version of myself. It left me sullen and meek for the rest of the day. We are fine now; both realizing what set it off, and how to prevent it in the future. We reassured Hud that it had nothing to do with him. He had forgotten it already. We went for a long drive and watched surfers surf. We ate homemade carrot cake and sunflower bread. Hud and I rolled in the sand. We’re good.
Yesterday began with a walk to the ocean. Through a winding path, trees overhanging, crowding us, until we came to a fork in the road.
An arrow was drawn into the ground, pointing to our right. We followed it, hoping it was a nice person before us, not a troll licking his lips and rubbing his palms. Up a hill, up some wooden steps, and then fwop!
The ocean, as powerful and majestic as I imagined, right in front of us.
The path had led us to a point, Spray Point to be accurate, about fifty feet overlooking the pounding surf. The rock cliffs were formed years of being slapped by the froth and the tremendous weight of rolling water. Thousands of years ago, the water level was as high as we stood, so the cliffs and banks were peppered with nooks and pockets where water once smacked. You could walk to the edge and look down, seeing the water hit the rock, spitting up the white.
It was low tide, so only the really big waves would make it over this one level, filling the small caves and pools, normally underwater during high tide. It was awesome; smelling the brackish air, watching ten foot breakers, in sets of three or four, topple into the banks. Down the coast a little you could see the dots of surfers, braving the chilly water, waiting for the next big one. It was exactly what we wanted to see coming to this section of Australia.
We continued up the coast a little to a deserted beach. All of the ocean side of the Mornington Peninsula is part of a national park, so there is no commercial aspect, or even evidence of anyone around.
I am sure it is different in the middle of their summer, but right now, as in Fiji, we only saw one other person the entire time on the beach.
A little later we had to leave, as Hud jumped into the water up to his knees, giggling while doing so. It was only about 13 or 14 degrees with a brisk wind, so we had to start our way home to avoid him getting cold.
We had lunch. We had our fight. We went for a drive.
Hud fell asleep in the car, as we knew he would, so we took in the scenery. We drove to Rye, a town a bit larger than Sorrento, to try to find yoga, a laundry mat and an Internet café respectively. We drove through Blairgowrie, a town smaller than Sorrento, and Steph was able to snag a cappuccino. We drove to the edge of the peninsula, to a town called Portsea, which has a number of old monster homes that were built in the 19th and early 20th century for the Melbourne elite to vacation. We drove to Sorrento, bought the fresh bread and ate it in the car. We drove back down towards Rye to another surf beach and got a much closer look at the surfers riding these fairly big waves in.
We watched a woman catch a fish. Hud and I rolled down a big sand path. We drove home.
Dinner was lemon pepper chicken, and a rice dish that Steph made with walnuts, broccoli, carrots and pineapple. I loved it.
I love her.
The fight was not portent of anything. It was environmental. It was inevitable.
Love to all,
J.
June 14, 2005
Sorrento, Victoria, Australia
7:34 pm.
Melbourne disappeared quicker than pipe smoke in a fan store. We are now comfortably settled in our 700 square foot, two bedroom cottage 90 minutes south of Melbourne on the Mornington Peninsula, the closest town being Sorrento.
We were done with the big city. Melbourne is spectacular though, the exact kind of city I would want to live in. The people are beautiful and friendly. The pockets of cool places are numerous and spread out. The ocean is twenty minutes from anywhere. The two hip streets we perused were riddled with restaurants, bars and cafes, or bars that turn into cafes in the morning, or cafes that turn into restaurants in the evening that turn into bars at night. They mostly are narrow, with chalkboard menus, and lots of wine by the glass and numerous pints or pots of beer. The waitresses are the cute Goth girls with so much indifference in their eyes I am sure you could chop off a toe and they would just sigh, wishing they were somewhere else. But the food we had everywhere was pretty awesome. Including the Mongolian beef noodle stir-fry take away I had last night. Hud had the bbq pork. I can’t remember what Steph had.
So that was that. Walking the streets that looked like home, picking up camera cords and new DVD’s for the little man. Eating our boxed take out in the hotel room, and falling asleep listening to each other’s snores.
This morning I slipped out to and got my head shaved by a Russian barber with a butchy, lesbian sidekick. I debated getting the straight razor shave, watching the Russian delicately slice the gravelly beard from the man in front of me in line. Then the gruff dyke burst in and I watched her sheer her first customer like a frightened sheep. I thought, stick to the head and move on. The Russian and I compared winter stories and he did a great quick head shave for 13 bucks. I picked up a cappuccino for Steph and two croissants from one of the 421 cafés in the three blocks back to the hotel.
We packed and walked to the bank to draw money to pay for the cottage rental where I am writing from right now. We had lunch and I secretly longed for and hated our indifferent waitress. She was about 15 pounds overweight, mostly in the hips, but still she wore the midriff baring shirt. She wore low rider black sweat pants and a black t-shirt. She looked like she was hungover from the previous night and the edge of her day two pink panties made an appearance as she leaned over to wipe away drink sweat. She was bored and bothered that her dark dive, her Nick Cave haven, was now serving lunch to Canadian tourists with their rambunctious three-year-old son. Man did I hate her. And want her. And probably want to be her somewhere.
Moving on. We decided to ship our Ipod back to Canada to see if Dad could work the warranty angle for us. What a pain. Bought in April, broken by June. It was a luxury, so it was not something we could rush out and repurchase. Like we did with the computer. Another Apple product. Thanks Steve “hand” Jobs.
David, our quirky and blinky redheaded concierge was nice enough to assist in the shipping of the Ipod back home. He raced and rushed around getting the appropriate paperwork together, fucking it up a couple of times, while we waited in the lobby entertaining Hud with free apples and candies. Davey boy eventually came through, so I slipped him a fin, and he bowed like a thankful Asian.
We were off, on the road, using our rental car for the first time since we arrived, meaning we spent $84 for two days rental and another $20 for two days of parking for our beige beast. And with Steph finding a new knack for navigation we arrived at our destination surviving the left hand side driving and four roundabouts.
The Mornington Peninsula begins about 45 kilometres south of Melbourne, curving around the bottom of Port Phillip Bay, and ending about 120 kilometres in total very close to Sorrento, where we are now. Our small cottage is about a seven-minute walk from the beach and about a seven-minute drive from Sorrento. We made the drive to Sorrento after unpacking to stock up on supplies, which included some great fresh produce, two porterhouse steaks, lemon pepper chicken and some ground beef amongst other sundries.
The town itself is really cute. Old fashioned stores lining the streets, parking separating the two sides, and an old movie house right in the centre. There is as mentioned a fresh produce store, a butcher, two bakeries, and get this, four bottle shops or liquor stores. It is like the town of Lakefield, Ontario having four liquor stores. Reedickerus. But hey, as I sip my bottle of James Squire Pilsner, a deliciously cold microbrew, I can’t complain.
So here we are. Daisy Cottage
We have self-prescribed this portion of our trip to be more active. There is a huge National Park with a number of marked out circuit trails, all under 5 kms very close to our cottage. We know with Hud it will be difficult, but as long as we are not under any time constraints, we can conquer these supposed scenically orgasmic tramps with red-faced passion.
So we have to stop every five minutes to watch Hud hover a piece of leaf and tell us it’s a bug.
“Hey guys, lookitthisbug!!”
So what.
Love to all,
J.
A thousand words
June 13, 2005
St. Kilda, Melbourne, Australia.
3:54 pm
Pictures! Woo hoo! Camera cord recovery in Melbourne was successful.
And yes, today, I will let the pictures do the talking. In random order.
Hud today in St. Kilda.
Goofballs today in St. Kilda.
Hud happy just cause he is running. Still.
Hud and Steph going down fast!! This was at Luna Park just down the road from our hotel in St. Kilda.
Note Dan and everyone the masculine plane Steph chose for our future pilot….
Steph looking pretty on Yanuca Island, Fiji
Hud learning to play pool. Somewhat pensively I might add.
Gareth, Nicki, Isabella and Mercedes. Warm and wonderful
Hud macking on the older chick.
Mercedes. Hud should have gone after her. What a peach. A month younger than Hud.
Hud climbing on Yanuca.
Me looking like the poster of dad he gave to mitch. I’m cooler though.
Don’t show Alice this one Tara. Pricilla. Neighbourhood mooch in Fiji
The boat we took from Pac Harbour to Yanuca
A future framed picture in our one bedroom basement apartment beneath Sam and Mike.
Hud looking like a Gap ad.
Hud close up.
That’s it. Words to continue at a later date.
Off to Sorrento tomorrow.
Love to all,
J.
I kept on waiting to see a Steve Singh sticker....
June 12, 2005
St. Kilda, Melbourne, Australia
8:47
Tonight for dinner? Shrimps. Bahbie. Or was it a thin crust pizza with a nice Shiraz?
We are here. Actually we arrived last night late and stayed at a hotel er…motel near the airport. Ahh nothing like paying 120 bucks for eight hours. Yikes. But the sheets were clean and the air was dry. And not one antelope sized cockroach crawled across my frontal lobe. And yet still I could not sleep. What kind of fool am I.
So the flight went pretty well, all connections, including the two and half hour drive from Pac Harbour to Nadi, transitioned smoother than buttermilk poured from a saxophone. A nice man, very dark, very Indian, named Charlie (head strangely shaped like a bullet), drove us in a minivan. Hud and I once again drifted off and Steph kept Charlie company with random questions regarding the flora and fauna.
Nadi Airport is great, particularly the departure waiting area. Note to self: Lots and lots of twenty year old women, candy apple thongs and g-strings poking out the back of their low rider jeans, going to Rarotonga, one of the Cook Islands. Note to self: stop posting note to self’s so the whole world can read them.
Other random airport waiting thoughts? There is always one couple with a baby that is just going off like a steam ship whistle. And everyone in the waiting area is preying silently that this family does not sit next to him or her. You can see it on their faces. They look constipated. It’s funny. At least to me it is.
Hud was active on the flight, but never once tried to escape. Other parents just let their kids roam. They slip their headphones on and the let the “plane” take care of them. One toddler just roamed the aisles, half charming and half annoying everyone around him. I wanted to ding my warm, buttery roll off the father’s noggin, but that of course meant giving up the warm, buttery roll. Darling Hudson fell asleep two hours in and we had to wake him on arrival. This kid transitions so well. Perhaps he will grow up and be a gypsy. I sure hope so. Gypsies are cool.
We rented a car upon arrival. Some mid-sized beige jobby with the wheel on the wrong side. Steph nervously got us to our motel as she lost the first “who’s driving” coin flip. We checked in and I bought ten bucks worth of chips and water to stave off hunger. It was just after 12 so it didn’t take long for all of us to fall asleep.
A good old-fashioned successful travel day.
This morning we woke up and started driving to St. Kilda, a small suburb of Melbourne near the water . Our home for the next 2 days.
It was my turn to drive. I did ok minus some navigational mix-ups, and we were upgraded to a deluxe room cause they did not have a room to fit a cot for the Hud.
Before we left Toronto, Steph’s wonderful ex-company bought us a gift certificate for Luna Park, an amusement park here in St. Kilda. We went right after we arrived, as we were not able to check in right away.
What a blast! It was like the Ex, but not as big or greasy. They had about 10 rides of various height requirements, but Hud was able to go on his first roller coaster (with me yay!) and another ride where they take you up about 6 meters and let you drop (Hud and Steph did that one, I was a little afraid). Hud loved them and we went on them a bunch of times before plying him away with promises of lollypops. It was a great start for Hud and a great reward for being so darn flexible.
St. Kilda is lovely. It sits at the Southeast corner of Melbourne, right on the ocean. Our hotel is on the Esplanade in front of the beach and water. We were lucky to arrive on Sunday, as there was an arts and crafts market lined up all along the sidewalk right across from the hotel. I know what you are thinking…how lucky can I be to have an arts and crafts market right across the street! I mean everyone knows I like arts and crafts almost as much as I like macramé. Seriously though, it was an excellent way to get a feel for the people here in Melbourne. They are like St. Lawrence Market people early in the morning on Saturday, before the 905ers arrive. Good looking, urban granolas mixed with big sunglasses (Steph’s Gucci’s finally fit in). Nose rings and Ugs. Stylish men in their mid-forties with creamy leather jackets. All moving in a nice orderly fashion peaking their British noses in at booths with hand painted t-shirts and carved iron chess pieces. Steph bought Hud a shirt that says Cheeky Monkey on it. Good times.
For dinner we ventured down the road and strolled along what looked very much like Queen Street (east of Spadina 20 years ago, west of Bathurst now). Lots of little clubs and restaurants, café’s and shoe stores. The crowd was significantly younger at night, and we were lucky enough to snag a table at skinny restaurant with cheap draft and great thin crust pizza. Hud sucked spaghetti all over himself. Steph had seafood risotto that was too sticky. Tough to find the perfect risotto.
Bizarre writing that last sentence after spending the last three weeks in Fiji. It’s a little overwhelming and a lot familiar to be back in city the size of Melbourne, the size of Toronto. I am happy about it though. With the rain for our last week in Fiji it was just a waiting game until the Melbourne leg of the journey. We were stir crazy. Thank heaven for Gareth and Nicki and the girls, because at least we could see through the rain into each other’s lives. Made it less tedious.
So now we are here for two days. Then off to the Mornington Peninsula, to stay in a small seaside town called Sorrento, which everyone has told us is beautiful. It was 20 degrees today. Sunny. Beautiful. Winter. If this keeps up I may play golf over the next couple of weeks.
One needs to remind one self how bad he is at something every once in awhile.
Tomorrow. City stuff. Including getting a camera cord so we can post more pics.
Lots of pics of Hud.
Lots of Hud is great.
Love to all,
J.
No choking. Or choking up
June 10, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
10:23 pm
I started writing four different opening lines to the last day in Fiji and erased them all.
So this is what it comes down to. I drank a lot today. All beer, all the time. It started harmlessly. Me trying to finish off the quarts of beer we bought for the dinner on Wednesday. Ending up with me squinting to make sure I am pressing the correct keys on this very keyboard.
I miss my father. I miss various people and one animal on a daily basis, but tonight I miss my father. Tonight I wish he were with me on the back porch, whispery scotch in each of our palms, evil smoke between our fingers. We would sit silent for a spell, and then make fun of something or reveal another thing. We would respond, or not, silence sometimes being our most comfortable answer. I would exult with too much emotion. He would slurp it in with stoic, father grace. I would love him for not telling me I am too emotional. He would love me for being that expressive. We would sit in that balcony silence for a long time, before breaking down and going inside and watching sports highlights. After useless homeruns, he would go to bed. I would stay up to prove to myself that I am younger. I am him yes, but younger.
Today started with Hud waking up early and him and I watching awful cartoons on snowy reception, offering Stephanie the chance to sleep in. I was tired after battling the gnawing feeling that a large insect was going to crawl across my forehead during the night. So Hud and I ate some good breakfast and dilly-dallied for awhile. Steph woke up around 9:00 and I took her place in bed to count my own sheep. I woke up at 11:00 and we all went for a group swim in the pool, Hud clinging to our necks like fingery nooses. At 1:00 we had grand plans to go out, but Hud changed those with his manic freakout and eventual slip into slumber. Steph and I took advantage and played Trivial Pursuit over a bottle of Chardonnay.
Around three, I went in to check on Hud and he was up and told me to leave as he was in his room, playing with his penis. Which of course was ok, because that is the rule we set up for him in regards to his new found love of the trouser snake. One of the best parts of being a dad so far is telling him to let go of the hammer, instructions my parents gave me when I was Hud’s age. He is obsessed with the dink. Just like his dad was. And is.
Quickly after Hud woke up I suggested with drunken glee that we go the resort. I wanted to catch the second half of the NBA finals and choke back three or four beers. I truly wanted to do this alone because they sell smokes at this resort and I was itching after three weeks of abstinence. Well, the game wasn’t on, but the mini pack of Rothmans was, so I indulged, alone at first and then secretly when Hud and Steph showed up a few minutes later.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tsk fucking tsk. I was so ensconced in the romantic version of myself that I stared in the bar mirror and watched the smoke trot down my lungs. Sure I hacked a little, sure I felt guilty, but man did I look cool in my white linen shirt and my three week beard, sucking down the smoke and letting it mosy out my nose and mouth. I will blow through this pack and be done with it for a month or so.
Dinner was at this small inn with Nicki and Gareth and their kids. I had this wonderful Tandori chicken dish and Steph had rock cod curry. The kids ran around in the rain, covering their bare feet with flecks of grass and dirt, juicy smiles plastered on their faces.
After dinner we came back to our place. Shrek 2 was the kid entertainment while we played euchre again, this time Steph and I the champions. We chatted with even more ease this time, Gareth the quiet one becoming more comfortable with each frisky joke. We leave tomorrow and I already miss them.
Fiji was great. I have memories from here that I will think about on the front porch rocking chair.
The village and the Kava ceremony, Hud playing with the village kids, waterfalls spitting out of rocks, our waterfall spitting us out, floating down the river on my back, Hud jumping in the pool, the ocean and the vacant beach, holding Steph’s sandy hand, the Stices and their effervescent warmth, Nicki and Gareth and their gypsy life, the monster bugs, cannibal forks, and icy cold Fiji Bitters.
Mostly I will remember it as the beginning.
Melbourne awaits.
Love to all,
J.
June 9, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
7:12 pm
Day 5 of rain. Seems Fiji is trying to make us leave with a bad taste in our mouths. Not going to work. We were blessed with rays of sunshine in the first 15 days. Like I am going to complain about anything. Who would listen?
So today started with me on the throne and Hud waking up, red blanket in tow, turning to look at me, saying “hi dad” with swollen morning lips and me replying “hi Hud” and then him continuing into our room to wake up Steph. Like he was 15 years old. Only with a blanket. Funny shit man.
I am two pages from surpassing my novel with this journal. It is difficult. I really enjoy this type of writing, recalling small incidents during the day and recapping with a little flavour. It flows easier. But I guess that is the struggle I referred to earlier. The six pages of the novel I was able to pump out back in the first week reads pretty well, I am happy with it, it fits in the first 34 pages that I hope I can access in Melbourne. So maybe the discipline will return once I can scroll back and read about Dexter Machine and his lady troubles.
So blah blah blah cultural centre, strong coffees, posting to the blog, checking e-mails…what’s that? An e-mail from Tara. Her and Andrew (yes I am giving you some credit) set up a blog for Alice.
www.alicesadventureswithus.blogspot.com.
What a great idea and it made us all stare at the screen and well up with news that our dear Alice is getting along fine with two of the greatest people in the world and their own dog Ike. They even posted a picture (took me five months on my other blog to figure that out Tara, well done) of Ike and Alice on their bed. Good times for the pups. Thanks again, hope the wedding planning is going well.
So, the only other highlight of the day was walking to a different resort on a whim for lunch. It was 2km away and with Hud that takes about, oh, four and half hours. We arrive and pass through their arches, pass the security gate, walk up near to the front desk, and then down to this bar area. Number of people we ran into? None. It was a freaking ghost town and I started thinking about ideas for some sort of ghost resort movie where teenage kids get stranded, only to be stalked by an axe-wielding bellboy.
No I didn’t, I just thought of that right now. But now I want a title for it. Last Resort? Not bad. Bloody Bellboy? Not good.
Anyway, we finally ran into someone and ordered some food. This portion of the canal was one of the locations for “Anacondas, The Search for the Blood Orchid”. Yes an actually movie. They have the boat they built for the movie; it sits near the pristine pool, on an angle, her name “Bloody Mary” painted on the side. Hud sat at the wheel. Oh to be entertained by things so simple.
Speaking of being entertained by simple things. There is a casino at this resort, empty of course, as we found out no one was actually staying there. So this big room with tables and swanky chairs sat vacant, eating up air conditioning power. At the entrance was a list of rules to able to enter. Most were basic rules about attire and conduct, but rule number nine stood out and made me laugh out loud.
Rule Number Nine: No Choking.
That is just pure gold. I take it a dealer or two had been accused of cheating with big ass hands wrapped tightly around his terrified neck. Or casino chips were being eaten and the resort was tired of the 911 calls.
Either way, pure gold.
Fiji I will miss you.
Tomorrow the recap.
Love to all,
J.
Still June 9th
Still Pac Harbour
I was feeling inspired to add a couple of items to today’s journal entry.
You all remember our dealings with the bees? Well they have finally left the hive and have given up all hope on rebuilding their condo. So far no relocation plans at Villa 90.
Since the bees however, we have met face to face with a few other creatures.
Just tonight alone, post James Bond, Die Another Day, there has been a battle with the laundry room roach. This was our third roach encounter. The size of these things is unbelievable. The roaches at 441 West End Ave (Auntie B’s) don’t hold a candle to these babies. Jason and the can of bug killer won the battle tonight. First with the roach, then directly after, still in the laundry room, with a large spider. By large, I mean the body was the size of a fist. Okay, only Hud’s fist.
I have also spotted large rat size poo in the house. This beast is still currently at large……
On a more serious note, I have just found out through my mom in Hudson, Quebec, that one of the local boys was killed a few days ago. He was a volunteer fireman in Hudson and was doing some training work on a boat and had fallen off and hit his head on the motor. He died on the way to the hospital. This boy was only 20. I used to babysit him when he was only one. I have been saddened by this tragic accident and can’t imagine what his parents and older sister are going through. Life truly is fragile.
It does make me glad that we have chosen to explore life and ourselves a little more this year.
S
xo
June 8, 2005
Dirk Pitt I am not
June 8, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
10:18 pm
There is a drop of pool water aching down the back of my arm, approaching my mealy elbow. It is hanging, looking at the tile floor, waiting to splatter, dry and disappear.
Gareth, Nicki, Isabella and Mercedes just left. We had a great dinner and then a single game of Euchre which Nicki and I lost 10-8. The kids watched Charlotte’s Web, with Hud making the moves on Isabella around halfway through. He got up from his side of the couch and meandered over, all Richie Cunningham-like, and then plopped down between the arm of the couch and Isabella. He then wiggled his wee bum in a space too small for a wee bum. They sat like that for a while until Isabella moved to the floor, needing her space. Hud just wanted a quick cuddle. Isabella is six and a half. Hud digs the mini cougars.
On the menu this evening? Parrot fish, red snapper and two other indistinguishable types of fish. There were potatoes and sweet potatoes baked into crispy squares, a green salad with green peppers more expensive than gold, cukes, tomatoes and carrots. A loaf of buttery garlic bread that I singed on the BBQ next to the fish. For dessert, cubes of watermelon and pineapple, red grapes seeded and split in half, oranges peeled, pith scraped and cut in two, with vanilla ice cream and crumbled Oreos. All accompanied with red wine and random, light conversation with us laughing at our own silly country jargon.
They left and we all stood at the door and waved, like a well-lit postcard.
Today was day four of rain. Day four of going to the cultural centre for coffees, internet, groceries and booze. We really are longing for one more good day of sunshine before Saturday’s flight to Melbourne.
Although Steph and I have already dreamed about slipping on our molded jeans and perfect sweaters and sitting outside and feeling the simple bite of a cool evening. Perhaps with a handful of Shiraz and a mouthful of stinky cheese. In the background the intermittent sound of the ocean slapping the shore mixed with Hud’s sleepy exhale. I can almost see the moon’s reflection through my own foggy breath as I wait to see Steph’s smile again.
I hope the Victorian coast of Australia is as craggy and aggressive as I imagine.
I hope the white crested waves crash like cymbals and deafen my partially infected ears.
I hope it snarls and dares me to enter.
I hope it envelopes me and spits me out like venom.
Love to all,
J.
June 7, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
9:40 pm.
I am sitting in my plaid Old Navy boxers after just diving in the pool. It is raining big drops but I needed to cleanse, as I was dewy from walking home with sleepy Hud on my shoulders. We had dinner at the Stices tonight. The Stices are the owners of our villa, the former Peace Corps Californians who immigrated to Fiji back in the seventies.
Tonight there was no CSNY or homemade granola, as I initially dreaded when Steph made the plans for dinner. Actually tonight, within moments of our arrival, I was requested by Chris and Eddie, son and father respectively, to go down to the canal that runs all through our little villa sub division. I am half way across the world and I am living in a wet Ajax. The boat they share with their next-door neighbour had taken on water and was almost sunk. Mercury 115 outboard fully submerged in the salt water. So it was me, Eddie, Chris, Atif the neighbour, and his son Alan managing the predicament. Zeus, Atif’s sinewy, hand shy mutt watched over the proceedings from a comfortable distance.
The plan was to back up a trailer into the water, guide the boat up the rubber wheels, hook it up to the trailer, and drive it back to Atif’s to drain. Simple. Atif was an easygoing man with a throaty laugh and a beautiful cigarette dangling his mouth. Alan was around 16, with a British accent and not as dark as the Fijians, leading me to believe his mother was white or they were from another country all together.
Chris was in the water when I arrived. His beard dipping in and out of the canal, fluorescent plankton nipping at his calves. Eddie started backing the trailer down the launch and into the water, and after a couple of which way should I turn the wheels, he planted the trailer in the centre of the launch, in about four feet of water. Chris had the daunting task of holding onto this 21 ft boat and keep it from drifting down the river into an inland lake miles away. The tide was up and the current was strong so I commend his ability to keep the bow pointed towards the trailer and not hooking on a ski rope and woo hooing down the river.
Alan and I were the muscle. Ok, Alan was the muscle. I was the white bowling pin that, with ferocity I might add, leapt into the water to be part of this late night boat saving expedition (this is me reading too many Clive Cussler novels). I of course was wearing my nice Gap khakis with the rolled up, trytobecoolcuffs. So I feigned I grunt, I faked a huzzah, and we were able to pull the boat up to at least where we could tie it to the wire and crank her up the trailer. Alan cranked it. I suggested different angles to crank, with authority of course, and Alan, bless his 16 year old naivetÈ, actually took my advice. It was at this point I slinked backward a couple of steps to avoid the snapping of the taut wire and beheading me. My biggest fear being a frozen decapitated facial expression of knowing what I was doing and becoming a Fijian legacy of assholeness.
So the boat was up as far it was going. It was now Eddie’s job of gunning the four wheel drive Honda and getting this bad boy on dry land to drain. He gunned; it worked, right up until he grounded the motor. The electrical system was shot so the trim was down, and no one, including Captain Graham, knew how to put the motor up manually. So, Eddie, bless his easygoing heart, suggested we leaving it right there until morning. It was three quarters out of the water, big rocks behind the wheels. It was not going anywhere. There was bubbling and gurgling, which sounded like water draining from the bilge, so mission partially accomplished. The biggest problem will be saving the motor. A problem that is not mine.
So dinner was nice, they really are nice people. Deb made homemade pizza and Chris and his wife made banana Foster. Hud and Josiah played without incident, dancing even, Hud on harp and Jo on sax, it was great for Hud. We chatted about their impending kids coming to live in Fiji, about what Steph’s and my dream jobs are (male hooker paid in diet coke and gyros on a pita), and how nice grandchildren are.
Around 9 we left, walked the five-minute walk home, and I put Hud to bed.
There is other stuff from today, groceries for tomorrow’s dinner party with Nicki and Gareth that was supposed to be tonight, drinking coffee and eating slushees, reading e-mails and wonderful comments. Hud leaning over a small bridge and watching water bugs skate along the surface.
But I am tired, and I bet Steph has drifted off, leaving me to my short glass of red wine.
There. Gone.
Love to all,
J.
Simple carriage returns
June 6, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
6:49 pm
At the beach today, Hud played with his trucks
He talked to himself in his deep, trucker voice.
Steph lay with her head on my stomach and we held hands.
They were sandy.
The tide was coming in and it was overcast.
Beqa Island, luscious, sat big and lonely in the distance.
The wind started to pick up and the waves got to about waist level.
The air was heavy and salty.
Steph and I talked about opening a bar/restaurant.
Still dreaming out loud we are.
I took Hud in the ocean and let some of the big waves roll over his head.
He laughed and coughed out sea at the same time.
The wind made both Hud and I cold.
Steph waited with open arms and warm towels.
I held my towel over my head and it rippled and shook like a flag on a boat.
We walked home.
I jumped in the pool to rinse my briny body.
Hud and Steph ate popcorn by the handful.
Hud fell asleep too early.
Steph read her book.
We then made love with the screen doors open, white curtains billowing and flowing.
I jumped back in the pool.
Steph went back to her book.
I slipped on a pair of blue cotton shorts and began cutting carrots.
Steph woke Hud up.
He was bitter and scowling.
I made grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches with carrots and corn and cucumber.
Hud was hungry, but he did not want to eat through tears.
He finally ate, sniffling, sighing.
Hud and Steph are colouring now, beside me.
Hud is subdued and very vocal.
Steph is shining and pretty.
Love to all,
J.
June 5, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji.
9:19 pm.
Big day for the Graham/White clan today! We hit all our hot spots. First stop? The cultural centre so I could post, drink black coffee, fancy schmancy cappicianno for Steph and a red slushee for Hud. Yes it was ten in the morning. Yes we consider the colour red a fruit and therefore a perfect breakfast beverage for our son.
Our son who, by the way, woke up at 5:00 am this morning. Luckily for me I woke up with Hud the previous morning and was able to loll and gag until 8:10 am. At which time I took over for the painfully tired Ms. White and let her sloth her weary body back into bed. Hud and I split two fried egg sandwiches, which of course means ½ for him and one and a half for me. I love toddler/parent kitchen math. We then played number stickers where he can count to ten, but only recognizes 1-5. We have some work to do.
Uh oh, fatty is not adhering to any culinary discipline while he is away. My dreams of coming back in a year with a stomach flatter than a glass coffee table, coke bottle shoulders broad from the farm work I valiantly took on, my flat ass now bulbous, like two overripe peaches glued together, my hair long, silky, curly, and obviously magical, my Jayne Mansfield hips gone, my extracted tooth growing back and whiter than ever, are dashed.
I actually lost about 15 pounds writing that paragraph. What’s that sleeve of Oreos in the fridge? I’ll be right there.
But seriously folks (thank you, I’m here all week, try the veal), I have lost about ten pounds as I suspected I would. I snack less, but drink more. It’s the change in the lifestyle that is driving it. It has happened before. My tanned, rashy stomach is down and my face is thinner. And I think I have an ear infection so I got that going for me.
My new fear is that once I get back to a grocery store jam-packed with all the goodies that I love with all the passion in my clogged heart I will binge again. Lets hope not, because I do not think the drinking will cease.
I have to drink. I am trying to be a writer. What’s that bottle of scotch? I’ll be right there.
I kid. I am a kidder. There is no scotch here. If there was don’t you think I would be fiercely gripping the neck and pouring it down my tunnel like throat? That is what writers do don’t they?
Feh. My daily sweaty icy bottles of Fiji Bitter are just my way of saying I am on vacation. Once I get to Australia it will all stop. I don’t think they drink much beer in Australia do they?
So we grocery shopped, and walked back, Hud on Steph’s shoulders, backpack full of food on mine. Hud starts eating Steph’s hair and for doing so, he is forced to walk. He is tired at this point, the walk is about a mile, and he also woke up very early. This is when the whine starts. Like eagle talons on a wet chalkboard. I hate it. I can feel the ire creep up my spine like a slow tickle. And have to remind myself that he is only three, he is tired and however annoying, he is just expressing himself. Besides, distraction mostly works - Hey look at this bug. Is that a plane in the air? Look at that guy stealing that car. The whine ceases, sometimes only for a mere minute, another distraction waiting to be drawn from the parental holster.
We dropped the groceries off at home and quickly turned around and went to the posh resort for a bbq and some soft elevator jazz by the ocean. It is pretty reasonable in cost and for the first time there was actually a little bit of a crowd to offer us something to look at other than the ocean kissing the sand.
Supposedly people come from Suva, the big city, for the day, to eat and lounge around looking pretty. A three-man band was playing slow, wispy versions of A Girl from Ipenema to entertain the crowd. There was a large family of Indo-Fijians all wearing uber hip sunglasses. There was a blonde man, with a nice shirt and wrinkles so deep that I thought he would bleed when he smiled, He was there with his mother, and her uber hip wheelchair. To our left were a brunette woman, her mother beside her drinking a gin martini, a silent man with the shirt fashion styling of Gino Vanelli, and an aging model in see through white pants and small Asian lettering tattoos on both her shoulders.
The owner of the hotel and his throng of hangers on also dropped by long enough to let me hear his cell phone ring four times in ten minutes. He is Australian, supposedly he bought the resort fairly recently from the Japanese. He is mid forties, hair spiked, sunglasses super glued to his head, and designer flip-flops. He is tanned and meets and greets all the people he thinks he should, including a couple of the Indo-Fijians and their Chanel eyewear. He has yet to even nod at me and for this, and for his swollen wallet, I hate him. But dahlink I love the flip-flops.
After an impromptu swim in the pool with Hud, we made our way home. We stopped by the new house of Nikki and Gareth and their two daughters Mercedes and Isabella. They had just moved in that morning just down the road from our villa. They are travelers with plans on staying in Fiji for a spell, to make an honest go for it. He is an engineer and specializes in helicopter repair. He, and another two guys, one being the pilot are trying to start a company to remove giant logs by helicopter. He was in Suva in a meeting when we arrived. So we had a spot of tea with Nikki as Hud played with Bella (Mercedes was napping). She is nice, talks too fast, leaving me hanging on a number of Aussie slang words, but earnest and wild eyed and a good mother. As mentioned they have traveled and lived in a number of places, including all over Australia and NZ.
Gareth arrived and joined us in the back where now the three kids were milling about in the yard and in the vacant lot beside their house. Gareth reminds me of Cullen. Skinny, educated and opinionated. I liked him immediately, even if both of them look at me vacantly when I told my jokes. I had to change my humour strategy from knockout punch to pokes and jabs. That seemed to work, as they both eked out smiles that I am sure were not just to shut me up. Almost sure.
We stayed for a couple of hours chatting about living away from home and what we all hope to get from the life experiences we have chosen. The kids all just played which was great for Hud and nice for us to be able to just sit for a moment without one of us chasing the little rascal.
We have agreed to have dinner at our place on Tuesday night. They will all come over for a swim and bbq and then when the kids are down, we can drink and play Euchre. Steph was pretty happy to find out Nikki loves Euchre. I was too and I am looking forward to an adult night of getting to know some new people.
Hud hit the wall shortly after arriving home and walked around randomly crying for no reason. I made chicken and rice and vegetables, which turned out pretty good. Hud fell asleep twenty minutes into Shrek 2 at 6:30. It was a long day, as he just does not nap anymore. Steph and I watched Snatch in bed (wow could that sentence be rearranged for some fun) and now she has fallen asleep as well.
So here I am. At the kitchen bar -like counter that I want when I grow up.
When I grow up.
Ha!
Love to all,
J.
Future is like yesterday but newer
June 4, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
6:45 pm.
I am tired tonight. Not really in the mood to write. Not really in any mood really.
It rained for most of the day, so we hung out, Hud and I played tag, Steph and I burned some mix CD’s. We lounged. We had a late lunch at the resort. We dropped by Deb and Eddie’s to pick up some DVD’s. Steph thinks I was rude for leaving abruptly. I did not want to take place in their kava ceremony. Bongos were coming out. CSNY was on the stereo. You get my drift.
Steph and I had a nice talk about the future today. How I have resolved that I have to make my future earnings by writing. It may be a pipedream, but it is a type of dream I have never really had before. All my work and or educational experience kind of fell into my lap, no real effort or struggle. So if this is what I have to struggle or make effort to make it successful so be it, coasting along at 51 per cent is not going to cut it anymore.
Besides if things don’t work out, Sam can always give me a job. Congratulations by the way Sam, I hope you can make it out here at some point. I will buy the first bottle of Shiraz. Or at least Sam you can help me self publish my book. CV Studio Publishing has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
Steph has yet to decide what will tickle her occupational fancy when this magical journey ends. She knows she thrusts herself into her work with such electric vigor, that she tends to put partial blinders up to the rest of her life. She does not want to do that again. Maybe freelancing. Maybe a flower shop. Petals and Pages. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
We kind of promised to not think about the what ifs after the year is over, but it is difficult not to. It is difficult to not think of the next stage of your life at this true midpoint of your life.
We are lucky to have the emotional support of so many big-hearted people back home.
Thank you all for letting us do this. Not that you could have stopped us, but you know what I mean. We love you all so much. Don’t ever think we do not think of you five hundred times a day.
We do.
We just do it with nice tans, sun kissed hair and lots and lots of mosquito bites.
Love to all,
J.
p.s. Hud is about 90 per cent toilet trained. Overnight and everything. He is a big boy now.
June 3, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
8:06 pm
Everything is quiet. Hud is down and Steph is in the bedroom with the last 20 pages of her book. Crickets fill the air, and the occasional extended caw of some bird in some palm tree will break the hum for a spell. Fiji shuts down early, or at least our smidge of Fiji does. I am sure somewhere the mad Bula dance is being danced and NZ women are sucking back mixed cocktails drooling over the ripples in some young buck’s stomach.
One week to go. I will be ready to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I think Fiji, particularly the open armed locals and the unspoiled coastline is wonderful, but the wet hot climate, and extreme midday sun are something I could not do much longer than three weeks. I probably could have handled more adventure; white water rafting up the Navua, or Jet Skiing to Beqa island to weave in and out of coral shelves and lagoons so blue you would think the sky and the ocean reversed. But economics prevented it. Steph and I agreed that even though we will be over our budget, there is no reason to rip it up and add Jet Ski, or a scuba adventure to the mix. Call it half assed responsibility.
Today we all went to the cultural centre in the morning. Coffees for us and homemade banana pancakes for the Hud. I went online and checked all of your nice comments and messages. Particularly for all the help with my heat rash. Dante. You need more to do at work. It acts up when I stay too long in the sun and cedes when I cool down. I can do the math. Hopefully it will not prevent me in the next week or so. I don’t think it will, I can temper it with t-shirt or 60 sunscreen. Do they make 60? Do you care?
We met an Aussie named Nikki in the centre and her daughter Mercedes. Mercedes is a month younger than Hud and has bright orange hair and perrywinkle blue eyes. Pretty pretty. Hud did not pay much attention to her. He kept following the local boys who were tossing bread into the pond to watch the 6 inch fish frenzy feed. It was kind of cool.
Nikki has moved to Fiji with her husband and two daughters (Isabella is 6). They have traveled extensively with their kids, pausing only to make money I would imagine, to finance the next leg of their life adventure. There are people like this all over the world. It really causes a blip in the traditional way of thinking of get a job, get a house, have a kid, get a raise, have another kid, get a bigger house, establish the nest egg, send kids to school, and then retire. The comparative scale seems to tip to the life of adventure.
I know all the responsible people are out there shaking their heads thinking I have my head up my ass as I am only 11 days into my own life adventure which is skewering my thought process. I give you the whatever look and walk away. I am weighing every option in this year. I am responsible to my son, my wife and myself. Not denouncing my family or my friends in any way. Just saying we have to live up to our expectations not everyone else’s. I am not lashing out here, just waxing and waning. Nor am I warning anyone, so just take it easy.
Not that my friends are tut tutting either. They maybe silently cheering us on. They maybe living their own lives, not really giving us more than a passing thought.
I tend to think I am more important than I am. Everyone lives their own lives.
Anyway, Nikki is hopefully coming over for a swim tomorrow morning. Her life is interesting and her perspective is hopeful. And she has really big bushy pits. Tee hee.
Also, in the afternoon, the owners of our villa came over to meet us as they had been in Australia on a business/pleasure trip. Deb and Eddie came to Fiji in the mid 70’s from central and southern California with the Peace Corps. I am sure they had long hair, bad mustaches and were chock full of idealism. Well, they just about seemed like the happiest people I have ever met. They talked like teenagers. They were earthy without being wow man. Deb even hugged Steph as they had some really nice correspondance prior to our coming.
They basically did the same thing as us, quit their jobs, sold their home and booked. In a much different time as well. They have four kids. Their youngest is finishing his last year at University, majoring in Tropical Agriculture. By the end of June, all four of their children, with spouses and kids will have moved back to Fiji after spending various amounts of time in the States. Chris, our greeter and his Dad are building a house on a 16 acre parcel of land they all purchased together, each giving an acre to the local Fiji community to they can build a centre. The house is only going to be 600 square feet. That is for Chris, his wife, and two kids. I know. But as Eddie said, with his surferesque twang, “that is a million dollar view”. It is right on the ocean looking out onto Beqa Harbour, out to Beqa Island. All of their kids and grandkids will be living with them until all construction is finished. They were so happy about it.
So I am guessing that Deb and Eddie were once hippies. But he was the head of the Peace Corps here and they must of eventually created some financial opportunity to allow them to own two separate villas that they rent out. They are also about to open an ice cream/smoothie stand in the Cultural Centre to see “what that is like”.
Awesome people with killer smiles.
And yes, they left a Tupperware container full of homemade granola with us. I kid you not.
Sometime in our last week here they are going to take us to the site where they are going to build the house for Chris and his family.
I can’t wait to see the view.
Love to all,
J
Lush to lush you baybee
June 2, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji.
7:24 pm.
Ok, now that the hack has taken her turn, can we get back to my literary mumbo jumbo? It’s not like I am popping open Photoshop and Quark to try and lay this blog out in a simple, yet sophisticated, lots of white space, sans serif font kind of fashion.
I mean easy peasy lemon squeezy; lets try not to step on giant big toes capiche?
My favourite name for a font? Bitchin’Camaro. You can see it in your head if you try.
Did you know you get to name a font if you create it? Is that wicked? If my boxy, big ass, all cap handwriting ever became a font I would name it Tingerini. The chicks would use it, but the guys would be indifferent.
I am six beers in and just cracked a bottle of Penfolds Chardonnay to ease the night into transition. So you get the on the cusp Jason. The freaky deaky Jason. The Jason that is referring to himself in the third person, like Mike Tyson, or even better, Saddam Hussein.
I will refrain from talking about yesterday’s trip to Yanuca, as Steph handled it wonderfully. I will add that certain feelings are rooted here in Fiji that will remain etched in the cranial concrete.
Dairy milk chocolate bars for instance. They have been Steph’s (and mine, like I could not eat anything bad for me that was in the fridge) chocolate fix as it is pretty darn good chocolate. The waterfall is another of course, but that is grand in scale and something I will never see again. Another Fiji feeling, a cacophonic one, is the sound of waves lapping against the Yanuca Island shore, then receding through a bumpy blanket of snapped off, washed up pieces of coral. It clicks and snaps, like dry wood in a fast bonfire. It was remarkable and something that I closed my eyes and listened to for about four laps to ensure I was hearing just that, so it would jump into the mix before the concrete set.
It’s there now, and it is cast, with I heart Yanuca etched in the top corner with a baby finger.
Today was wonderfully typical as I set out around 10:00 am to add the pictures to the blog, send a blast e-mail for more attention, seek a Sony store in Melbourne to find our camera cord, and ensure Steph’s choice of airport hotel was cheap enough. I accomplished all missions, including bowing down to Steph’s airport hotel selection.
Nothing remarkable happened except there was this guy in a grey shirt with too short grey shorts. He had an almost mullet and he was short, with a hardened, Kanicki from Grease, pock marked face. He came into the bakery while I was sipping my very strong coffee and eating a pear muffin. I was on the Internet and he strolled in and stared at me like I was sitting in his seat. He growled at the delicately gay server something about AOL not working in the other Internet location. He then focused his squirrelly Export A Green look at me and asked me curtly if I was going to be long. Being the manic submissive type, I replied with an almost gay “I’m almost done!!” and let him storm off.
His Camaro would not have been Bitchin’.
Anyway, after all my online crud was done he was behind me in line at the grocery store. He bought a pack of Benson and Hedges, explaining to the woman in line next to him that he was going to quit soon. He said it in that hacky, make a motor sound with your mouth, kind of drawl and it made me a little sick. I did crave the smoke; especially since they sell them in singles at the grocery store, but man did I not want this fuck’s life, with his feathery hair and Napoleon attitude. I wanted to cuff him and then toss him into the fake pond in the middle of this little shopping arcade, letting the Koi gnaw his nicotine stained fingers down to the nubs.
He was a greasy weasel. He knew it.
I returned and Steph and Hud were frolicking in the pool. We chilled for a bit and then made our way to the beach at around 2:30. I lollygagged in the ocean, relishing in the temperature and the fat free buoyancy of salt water. Hud pushed his truck through the biggest sand box in the South Pacific. Steph joined me in the ocean for a bit and we held each other and kissed. We then sat on the shore next to Hud and stared at Beqa Island, watching the waves and listening to the Jet Ski rental dudes circle and pounce.
Around 4:30 we went to the posh restaurant for dinner, further stabbing our budget to death. Steph had fettuccine with fresh prawns and salsa Verde, I had a thin crust pizza with smoked ham and pineapple, Hud had the chicken fingers and fries with his regular side Caesar. It was pretty awesome, especially when you add three icy beers and a really balmy wind to the occasion.
We dropped by the resort next door on the way home as they were having their weekly lovo and we wanted to say hi to anyone we had met in the last couple of days on our day trips. I had three more beers as Steph suffered through one, and Hud winged around the pool balls. A local man tried to teach Hud how to play, but after a couple of tries, Hud told him that he could play by himself.
We walked home in the dark, Hud on my shoulders, passing people in the dark and saying Bula.
Home waited silently. We opened the door and it opened its comfortable arms to us.
Hud was zonked so sleep came easy for him.
Steph and I are going to play Trivial Pursuit again.
I think I will try this time.
Love to all,
J.
Tonight's special guest is.....
May 29, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
Exactly 6:30 pm.
Two entries in one day. I suppose I could garner the ambition to continue my novel, but the truth is, I am stuck a little, and I am hoping the journal writing will kick the wide load that is my ass into high gear. Besides, the brain spittle that I get to write here is somewhat cathartic, if not banal.
Ooo big words there cheese head, who really are you trying to impress? Your father?
With his furrowed brow and his squinty eyes whom you have been seeking approval from since you dropped out of high school?
Or your mother? With her huge heart and own frustrated ambition who you are more like than anyone in the world
(Ah ha, I get to confront feelings with words in a forum that lets me say what I want without thinking (too much) about your retorts. Oh I might be scathing, I may be insightful, I could be completely off my broken legged rocker but I might, I just might, leave a light on for you. Besides, you can always change the channel if you want).
I am probably just trying to make sure this writing maintains some level of intelligence and emotion before it slips into a recap of every day, boring or not, productive or not, and wanes once I leave this tropical country and end up in some small suburb of Melbourne, in a house like all the others, waking up (before sunrise) and thinking, oh crud, what the frig do I write about now?
Moving on.
We went to the beach, Hud and I, without Steph. Steph went to the cafÈ/restaurant to firm up our three days in the city of Melbourne and arrange the rental of our car for the first leg in Australia. It was high tide, the first time we had seen it, and it was high all right, higher than Coburn before basketball. Waves basically lapped at our toes the moment we left our villa. Ok ok that was an exaggeration, and every one knows, I have never, ever exaggerated in my entire life.
So Hud and I walked. Man and boy. Hand in hand. Careful to not step on the driftwood, the coconuts, the kelp, that washed up during last night’s storm. We found a little spot where Hud could play with his Bob the Builder trucks and I could take a dip in the vast ocean. Chicken mentioned in e-mail before I left that I should try to embrace the ocean, take advantage of it and not be afraid of it (oh chicken of the sea…)
I am trying. I am not the best swimmer and I do have some trepidation about the ocean and its gnarly inhabitants. But I am getting better. Everyday. Every day I am getting better.
If all this self help crap gets any smarmier, soon I will be a guest on The Okra Winfrey Show. Musical guest on said show? Urethra Franklin.
So Hud fiddled with trucks, I read my Clive Cussler book until it started to rain. We walked back through the posh resort where my unshaven mug is becoming a regular appearance. We went to the store where Hud got a Popsicle that tasted like sweet potato and I hustled four quarts of beer. The beer had to be wrapped in newsprint and stuffed into my knap sack as beer sales are restricted on Sunday. I bought two boneless chicken roti parcels for lunch and they were so good, I ate mine and half of Hud’s.
Steph came home while we swam, all missions accomplished. I bitched a little about the price of the accommodations in Melbourne, but then I relented, and apologized. Must be some backlash from my giving up Diet Coke.
Whaaaaat?
Yes. As part of the new improved (yet still strangely plump) Jason, I have given up Diet Coke. It has been four days now. And if you think it is not an addiction, have I got a finger for you. After 10 years of at least six to eight litres a week, it becomes quite habit forming. It truly was the only thing that would make me leave the house, no matter what the weather, to go to the store to purchase. And it remains the best hangover drink ever. For me that is.
Maybe that is why I have chosen to banish it from my glugatoire, because I have yet to be hungover.
Oh hangovers, the hairy tongue, the skippiness where I am truly at my funniest (white nights not included), and the culinary cravings of grease and salty chips.
Only to be washed down by the bubbly goodness known to many, but not to all, as DC.
I raise of glass of water to salute you.
I am babbling. I am done.
Love to all,
J.
May 30, 2005
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
7:45 pm.
My skin rash came back. How is that for an opener? Perhaps you would like to hear some boil lancing talk, or perhaps about more Hud poo tales? Captivated? Enthralled? Sitting on the edge of your plush seat?
I am writing for the audience again. I have to stop. I have to let the train of thought chug without thinking of Cullen at work sneaking a peak, or Dante, my pork and cheese former co-worker trying to fill up his days reading my senseless blather. I have to stop.
My skin rash came back.
It started back when I lived at Rosewell, and I got a burn on my arms in all likelihood while playing golf. Small red bumps appeared on my arms and I went to the walk-in clinic on Fairlawn. An attractive female doctor wearing an African hat like the surgeons do on TV hospital dramas checked me out, whist I checked her out. Meow. She said it was probably nothing, took blood, and told me she would run a test for this rare skin condition and call me if it came back positive. Well she never called and every time I spend a dent of time in the sun certain portions of my bowling pin body break out in this red bumpy rash.
Today I spent an obviously unhealthy amount of time in the sun without lotion, and on my back, right at my armpit (this entry just gets better and better doesn’t it?) is an intense gathering of red bumps. I also have a patch on my ankle and on top of my feet. Care to diagnose?
The reason I spent an unhealthy amount of time in the sun today is that I caught a writing wave and was able to plow into my pending novel again. I first sat with a notepad and mapped out the basic scenes and what I needed to accomplish in the next part of the story. With the notebook open beside me, I was able to capture the voice of the character and feel great about the direction again. Steph, my editor, my love, my friend, read it and agreed it fit in with the 35 pages that sit in Internet limbo right now. So that was good news. Now when I want to write it won’t be that tripe I wrote yesterday. Blecch. How needy am I.
Today was a pool day, with a couple of walks to stretch the legs. Hud and I went out before lunch to pick up some roti parcels (chicken curry wrapped in a naan, we eat nothing else) and four more big ass quarts of Fiji Bitters, which I still had to smuggle because it is a Fiji holiday today. The holiday is a dedication to an indigenous man who furthered the Fiji cause to colonize. I can’t remember his name.
Hud and I ran into some local kids, about seven of them, that had gathered on a bridge near our villa. They were quite taken by the little man and tried to touch him and squeeze his cheeks. One chunk of a woman actually kissed him on the temple. Hud ignored them all and trudged along. Interested only in Bartok the bat in one hand and a really smooth rock in the other. Either that or he was so focused on the popsicle he was to receive, that he completely zoned out the rest of the world. He got an orange one.
So we had roti parcels for lunch and for dinner. Both times complimented by a group of vegetables. Hud is eating well, and his mosquito bites are not as severe looking anymore. Steph’s health is good, she has a number of bites too, and she got a lot of sun today. Stranglely, I have yet to be bitten by a mosquito. Maybe cause I shower once every four days. C’mon! I swim nonstop! There is no pigpen linger. I hope.
I feel good, my finger and tinger are still numb, and the odd fever I had at mom’s before I left never materialized into anything serious. I am still off diet coke and feel no different, although I am sure I am better off. My other vices are gone as well. There is ample opportunity to plant my bum down on a bar stool and order up a good couple of packs of Benson and Hedges, but the urge is waning, although the romantic version of myself still wants one. I am sure I will lapse, I am also sure it will be gone soon enough.
I do like the icy quarts of Fiji Bitter but that’s a when in Rome thing.
Tomorrow we are off to Suva tomorrow with your ham and mine, Anil! I just hope both hands are on the mike and not on Steph’s good stuff. I joke. She would never allow such philandering.
Even if she does secretly dig his thin little mustache.
Love to all,
J.
May 31, 2005,
Pacific Harbour, Fiji
7:02 pm.
Nothing more luxurious than jumping in the pool with your nudie wife and son after drinking a bottle of Australian Shiraz and eating bbq chicken and sausages with buttery potatoes and onions, with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes on the side.
Now that is a much better opening than the rash one from yesterday. I feel better, although there is a slow trickle of pool water splitting my shoulder blades as I type.
Today was Suva, population 160,000, all in about three square miles. It was kind of disgusting actually. Diesel fumes clouding our lungs and senses, and all the while we were on the look out for the scammers and the shysters we were warned about on the bus ride from Pacific Harbour.
And who was our host for the 45-minute drive to Suva? Oh yes, Fiji’s answer to Magnum himself, Anil. With his tight pants and bad shoes, and the white polo Fiji Palms resort t-shirt, he entertained us on the microphone until that gave out, and then with just a loud voice, ensuring the people at the back of the mini bus were able to fully digest his Henny Youngman version of humour. Take my four wives please.
The best part of the trip was the Fiji Museum, where for $7 dollars you could walk from glass showcase to glass showcase that featured different items and tidbits that made up Fiji’s somewhat colourful past. The best part was obviously the cannibalism part. You see, up until about 1860, indigenous Fijians still ate people. The rabid influxes of Christianity changed all that, but not before a couple of missionaries were served up with some Kava and breadfruit.
Oh what a tasty meal for eight I would have been. A little fatty, but with some HP sauce or maybe some melted old cheddar, my arms and legs would have been pure salivation, and salvation for that matter.
After the museum we walked through the botanical gardens, which were neither botanical, nor a garden, discuss. But it was the shortcut to lead us into the congested centre of Suva where we warned about the men that would approach you and either carve your name into a sword for a small fortune, or whisk you into stores to shop so they could receive some sort of commission based compensation.
A couple of dudes approached me, but with a gruff no or no thank you from my now imposing nine-day beard, and they faded into the alleys, waiting for the next mark.
We checked out a Chinese food restaurant but it did not pass muster, so we went to an Americanized bar where we drank beer and ate nachos and Caesar salad. Once again immersing ourselves into Fijian culture. Hey. They do drink beer.
Feeling guilty about our lunch, we tried a curry stand, but it was too crowded and Steph and I conceded that we were not even that hungry. So off to the ice cream stand it was to sate Hud and watch movie trailers on TV (the ice cream stand was part of the movie theatre).
Ice cream now gone, Hud got to play in a mock park with Astroturf for grass and a big pile of mud or a turd right in the centre. I sat on the stairs and watched, slowly satisfying my need for nicotine by inhaling all the diesel smog that drifted into my lungs from the road inches away. Ahh we’re in Marlboro country now.
Oops almost forgot, we were able to burn our current Fiji pictures on a disc, so don’t forget to scroll through to actually see all the things I have been droning on about.
On the way to the open aired market, a man crouched down and kind of prodded Hud, who was between us, holding a hand of ours each. We kind of grinned, annoyed, but Hud is cute, and has that effect on people. But then this man tried to slap our hands away and both Steph and I pulled Hud away and said a resounding “no!” in unison. The man moved on. You just never know.
The open aired market was pretty neat. With Fijians and Indo-Fijians competing for the produce market. All carrying the same items, we purchased tomatoes, cucumbers and a double-headed pineapple. It was time to go back to the bus.
They split our group in two and we took the bus back with Peter and Pam, a retired couple from just outside of Melbourne. They were sweet, even if he did keep clearing his throat to hawk. They had been to Fiji a number of times before and gave us some hints about our upcoming time in Australia. They had a grandson that was born the day before they left for Fiji. They did get to see him and had pictures to show us. It was their seventh grandson and you could tell Pam missed them because she took a shine to the shooting star that is our son.
So here we are. Back at “home”. Hud and Steph are watching Charlotte’s Web again and I am here with you. All the entries cannot be as passionate as the river one. Some of them are just my way of recording what I hope to be the best year of my life.
Off to Yanuca Island tomorrow to snorkel and bask in the sun.
We also met a stray dog yesterday. We named her Priscilla. Don’t tell Alice.
Love to all,
J.
June 1st
Pacific Harbour, 7:37 P.M.
Yanuca Island today. Jason asked me not to write in his style, so I will refrain from being funny and clever. Bare with me.
So the day started off a little rainy, but the trip was still on. We ventured over to the Pacific Palms to get fitted for our flippers. Once Jase found some flippers in giant size, we were good to go to the boat. Six Kiwis, two Aussies, two Fijians and we three Canandians squeezed into the wee boat and 1 ½ hours later we arrived at the tiny island of paradise. Hud slept on the ride over after saying he wasn’t feeling good. He most likely felt a little sea sick…. the boat was a little rocky at times.
Never the less we landed upon the shores of a small backbacker/surfer resort beach to stay for a day of snorkeling, lunching and relaxing. Hudson was quite impressed with the hermit crabs. He caught a few in the morning and made sure that he showed all of the women on the island his find. Since there was only a handful of people on the island you can imagine how quickly Hudson would have gone through everyone with the crab showing, over and over again. Nobody seemed to mind his persistence.
Lunch was yummy. The Fijian cook (also our sea captain) whipped us up some yellowfin tuna (good), steak (rubbery), sausage (Jase says this was alright), coleslaw and white bread with butter (always good). We chatted with a Kiwi couple over lunch who told us that the locations that we had picked for New Zealand were both great coastal towns. Phew. That was comforting to hear, as we just guessed on locations.
Jason and I took turns snorkeling. There were lots of coral and a few good fish. I’m torn about whether to go diving or not before we leave here. I felt like I didn’t see enough underwater life today. Will decide over the next few days. We are at our halfway point in Fiji. There was a moment on our boat ride home that I felt so happy to be here and with my two favourite guys. Hud was asleep on my lap and I was leaning into Jason.
He had his arms wrapped around me and the sun was setting over the mainland.
Ain’t love grand in Fiji.
We got home around 5:00 and all jumped into the pool for a dip. Then got changed and walked to Oasis restaurant for dinner. We had chicken curry again. I think that I’m officially over my curry phase. My belly is queezy now. I guess that’s what a week of daily curry will do to you.
On another topic, that dog that Jason mentioned in his journal yesterday, I think that she’s a thief. My beautiful Solomon water sneakers that I left outside to dry are missing. The dog tried to steal my bikini bottoms yesterday and that is why I’m blaming her. The only other person that could have taken them is the pool boy. Unless there have been other people in our backyard…..I don’t even want to think about that.
Also on another note, the bees seemed to have left the hive. I am really scared of bees and I know that I will sleep better tonight without their presence.
All in all, a good day. Happy June to all. Love, Steph
